I climbed the three cement porch steps and rang the doorbell. Around a minute later, I considered ringing it again, but decided to wait a bit longer. Seeing that it was a large house, it could take someone a while to answer the door. Not long after, the door opened, and I was immediately disappointed as I realized it was highly unlikely that this woman killed Earl.
She was around seventy, barely five feet tall, and I doubted that she weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet with her clothes on, shoes and all. Then I felt guilty for being disappointed that she probably wasn’t a legitimate suspect because that wasn’t very nice. Lately, I was just worried about Fern.
“Can I help you?” she asked, a worrisome glint in her eyes.
I smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Hi, Mrs. Weinberger. My name is Charlee King, and I’m from Rockfish Bay. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about your former insurance provider, Earl Henderson.”
At the mention of his name, her mouth pinched. “What would you like to know?” she asked coolly.
“Were you aware that he’d recently been murdered?” I asked, hoping to glean something from her reaction.
“Yes!” she grinned brightly. “Best news I’ve heard in months. Who are you again? And why do you want to know?”
Oh, well, okay then. Perhaps she did hold a grudge.
I briefly explained that I’d found the body, and how Earl was Fern’s neighbor, and I was just trying to help out my aunt. She seemed to believe I didn’t have any ill intentions and invited me inside.
The interior of her home was tastefully decorated in a minimalist style. It felt cold to me, but the pieces she did have looked expensive, confirming my earlier thought that she wasn’t in need of money.
Could she have hired someone to kill Earl? Physically, she couldn’t have done it, unlike my aunt, who was six feet tall and plenty sturdy. But she could have paid someone.
Phyllis led me into the living room, where I sat on a firm white leather couch. She sat adjacent on a matching white chair and crossed her leg over her knee, folding her hands on her lap, very prim and proper. My mother would like her.
“I heard that you had an issue with your policy with Mr. Henderson that resulted in the forfeiture of benefits.” I was pleased with how professional I sounded.
She scoffed. “That’s one way of putting it. We paid our premiums annually, and Earl failed to notify us of an increase. Then about three and a half years ago, my husband had a heart attack and died. I was supposed to receive a million dollars, and guess what I got? Nothing.” She leaned back in the chair and folded her skinny arms across her petite midsection.
The way she said it sounded so cold and almost cruel. Did she even love her husband? She seemed more upset about the money than she was her husband’s death. Could she have played a role in that as well? I was tempted to question her further on that, but I decided it was best to stick with why I came, for the moment.
“So, you sued him?”
“Yes, and his partner Russell Jenkins.”
That was news to me.
“My lawyer thought we had a very strong case. It was dragging on forever as those things usually do, and then when I finally thought we were getting close to settling, their lawyer produced paperwork showing that we had been notified of the change in the policy and claimed they bore no liability,” she spat, her voice filled with anger. “Then the judge threw out the suit.”
“Had you ever received the paperwork regarding the change in the policy?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“No.” Her brows veered together, making her face appear more wrinkled. “It had to be forged.”
My eyes widened at this accusation, and I scooted closer to the edge of the sofa. “What makes you say that?”
She threw up her hands. “It took them almost six months to come up with that document. If they had, in fact, sent it to us as they said they did, it should have been in our file at their office. But it wasn’t. My husband kept meticulous records, and we never got it. And if we’d been paying the wrong premium for close to two years, why didn’t they say something?”
“Because they’re crooks,” I muttered.
“Exactly!” she pointed her finger at me. “I know they pocketed our premium and came up with the fake paperwork to avoid paying a settlement.”
“Wouldn’t their business liability insurance pay for that?”
“I doubt they even have it. Or if they do, it wasn’t enough to cover what I was suing for. And I can’t prove it, but I heard from another person in town who said that they had known an elderly woman who was scammed by them too.”
“Do you know their name?”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, she passed away. But apparently, she didn’t receive any benefit after her husband died either. Jenkins and Henderson claimed the same thing. That she’d failed to pay the correct premium and her policy had lapsed. Only her benefit was for around one hundred thousand, and she didn’t have the means to fight it, like I did.”
I believed Phyllis, but with her surly attitude I had a difficult time feeling sorry for her. Especially since she didn’t seem really broken up over her husband’s death. It seemed strange, unless she had a miserable marriage, which was also possible. Either way she had a motive.
“You seem happy that Earl is dead.”
“I am,” she admitted freely. “He was a horrible human being. And so is his partner. I’d love to see him put
