“We are looking for Dorie Armes. Are you Dorie?”
“Dorie? I’m Marla. Dorie’s working.” She looked inside. “Mum, stay out of the kitchen right now.” With those words, Marla left the officers at the door and ran after her mother. After seating her mother on the sofa in the living room and handing her a magazine off the table, Marla came back.
“Sorry,” she continued, “my mother loves my baking and will just dip her whole arm into the pie. I have to keep an eye on her. If she gets off the sofa, let me know.”
Theo nodded and asked, “Is Dorie your sister?”
“Yes.”
“We wish to talk to her about a man she used to work for about four months ago, a Mr. Tipring.”
“Oh yes, Dorie knows about it. She heard about his death on the news and was very broken up, turned quite pale. I don’t think she expected it, you know. I mean, who expects someone you know to end up dead and then you have to hear about it that way. It’s horrible.”
“Where can we find your sister?”
“Dorie’s working. She nurses another older lady. I have to stay at home to take care of Mum right now, so Dorie’s working for us. I can give you the address if you like.”
“Please.”
She ran back into the kitchen and came back with a napkin and written with a green marker a street name with house number. They left and Theo took out his map to find the place, which was only a few streets away.
As they approached a small pleasant looking house with a porch and white fence, they could hear yelling coming from the house, “No, no, that’s not how it’s done. Why do you not do it right? I’ve taught you how to do it repeatedly. Why am I paying you what I am if you are not going to do it right? I don’t understand why they send people like you out, I don’t understand.”
“Betty, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, you always tell me to calm down. It’s all your doing. If you didn’t spend so much on your stupid card games, we could afford a nurse who did things as she is supposed to.”
The nurse stood by the front door holding a tray with a flowery teapot and two cups. The old couple sat at a wrought iron table, the old man read a newspaper while the old woman wrote a list on a pad of paper.
“Hello,” Dorland called out to the two sitting at the table, while smiling at the nurse at the door. “We’re the police and we are looking to talk to a Dorie Armes. Does a Dorie Armes work here?”
The old woman put her pen down, looked at Dorie, and stood up, “What is it all about?” she pried. Dorie raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“We need to ask Dorie some questions.”
“Is it about the dog? Because if it’s about the dog, I’ve already explained to the other officers that he was returned. There’s no need to enquire further, unless you police have nothing better to do, which I suspect considering the increase in crime we have had in this very neighborhood.”
“Dear . . .” her husband cautioned her to tone it down.
“Don’t dear me. You police need to be more vigilant. I have expensive furniture that I can’t afford to have stolen, where would we sit if it got cold? You would complain to Herald when it got cold and you had nowhere to sit and read your paper, wouldn’t you?” Turning again to look at the officers, she continued, “All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt you to drive up and down the streets every once in a while.”
“All right, we will keep that in mind. Can we talk to Dorie alone?”
“You might as well talk to her in the kitchen while she re-prepares our tea. This time warm the pot up first. I hate nothing more than warm tea.”
Dorie never said a word to either of them until she entered the kitchen, she placed the tray down on the table and dumped a whole steaming pot of tea down the drain. She ran the hot water and rinsed the pot out, “When I first started, Mrs. Barmy taught me how to make tea, and for the most part, I follow those instructions because it’s how I make my tea at home for my mother, but some days she catches me making the tea my own way and not hers. It’s then she complains. She does not complain when I make it my way as long as she believes I am making it hers. Old people are like that though. I had made that observation soon after I started nursing, and you can’t allow it to affect you. So, what do you want to talk to me about?”
“It’s not about that dog or whatever Mrs. Barmy was going on about. We actually want to talk to you about a previous employer, Mr. Tipring. Do you remember him?”
She stood looking at them for a moment before she spoke, she almost looked ill. “I’m sorry,” her voice cracked. “I heard about that—I saw it on the news. Why are you asking me about it? I worked for him many months ago and only for a few days.”
“We understand. We have some questions about a pair of earrings actually. I know that sounds odd, but a pair of earrings has gone missing. A nurse—a Mrs. Hathaway—I don’t know if you know who she is, but she was fired from her post because Mr. Tipring thought she had stolen a pair of earrings.”
“And you think that it was me? You think I stole them?”
“Not necessarily. We just wanted to ask you if you knew about them.”
“I remember seeing a box of jewelry on Mr. Tipring’s . . . somewhere in the bedroom but other than a quick glance . . . I don’t know if I gave it much thought. How often does one pay attention to other people’s jewelry? The earrings didn’t look very expensive. Does it really matter that they’re missing? I doubt they were stolen; most likely he dropped them on the floor. Why would someone want to steal a cheap pair of earrings? Why not steal something of more value in the house, like maybe his art?” She looked at them calmer now, whatever was bothering her she seemed to have under control.
“Do you think his art would have been worth more money?”
“Yes, compared to the earrings, any art would be worth more.” The kettle started whistling on the stove. Dorie took the pot and refilled it with more tea.
“We’ve been asking everyone that knew him where they were on Wednesday around seven in the morning.”
“I was dropping off dry-cleaning last Wednesday before coming to work. My mother had spilled sauce all over her dress and some sheets on her bed. I have the receipt, if you would like, from the dry cleaners near my house, two streets away. They know me there. Because of my mum, I bring in many items. You can confirm with them, if you like.”
Mrs. Barmy yelled to Dorie to bring their tea.
“I hope you find out why Mr. Tipring was murdered,” Dorie said to the officers before she headed outside again.
Theo looked at his partner. “It’s funny that she wants to know why and not who, don’t you think?”
“It is indeed.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The solicitor met them with the same glasses he’d worn the last time they met. Theo chose not to bring it up. He carefully took the bag with the box from Theo’s hands and brought it into his office. Almost like it was delicate crystal, he removed the box from the bag and carefully opened the door of the case, revealing the pieces of jewelry.
“Unbelievable,” he said, staring at them intently.
From the way he spoke, Theo thought he had it all wrong. “Are they valuable?”
“Oh no,” he said looking over his glasses, “but they match the pictures exactly.”
Dorland rolled his eyes and said, “Apparently one of the pieces were stolen. We were hoping we could compare the pictures you have in the file with what is here.”
“Someone stole one of the pairs?”
“Apparently,” Dorland confirmed.
“Just one?”
“We hope,” replied Theo. The solicitor took the first photograph from the pile and together they searched the box. When they found the item, the picture went to a designated pile on the right. One by one they matched a set of earrings with the picture. When they had reached the ninth or tenth picture, long dangling silver with emerald teardrops, they could not find them.