Purrfect Heat

by Nic Saint

  They stared at one another. “We have our killer, Chase. He confessed.”

  “What if Konrad isn’t the killer? What if Riding’s car really was parked outside the restaurant that night and he’s the killer? Wanting to shut Skad up before he blew the lid on this whole sweatshop affair?”

  Chief Alec shook his head. “I’ve got a confession.”

  “That wasn’t a confession, Alec. That was a nervous breakdown. The guy didn’t know what he was saying. He would have confessed to killing Kennedy or being Jack the Ripper.”

  The Chief thought about this as he picked up something from his desk. It was a fortune cookie. He absentmindedly toyed with it, then crumbled it under his fingers, took out the little piece of paper and popped the cookie into his mouth, munching down.

  Chase stared at him. “What’s that?”

  “Huh? Oh, something the guys picked up at the sweatshop. They had bags and bags of the stuff.” He lobbed one at Chase and he deftly caught it. He studied the fortune cookie and something clicked inside his mind. There was a nicely designed logo printed on the cookie. A Z and an R. Ziv Riding. Probably PR swag. “Alec?”

  “Mh?”

  “Remember how the coroner found a fortune cookie in Niklaus Skad’s stomach?”

  The Chief stopped munching, and then his eyes went wide. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Odelia’s uncle drew his hands through his few remaining wisps of hair. “Oh, Jesus. I locked up the wrong guy, didn’t I?”

  “And Odelia was right about Riding,” said Chase, nodding.

  “I should have known,” said the Chief with a groan. “That damn niece of mine is always right!”

  Chapter 30

  We were finally on our way home. This whole business with Diego had brought home to me the fact that I needed a break. I’d been up all day, and I needed to lie down and get some shut-eye. And we were just passing by the General Store when Kingman called out, “Max! Hey, Max!”

  “Ignore him,” I told Dooley. “I just want to go home and sleep.”

  “Max! Dooley!”

  “I can’t ignore him, Max,” Dooley said. “He might have something important to say.”

  “He always has something important to say, but I need to get some sleep.”

  “Max! Dooley! Yoo-hoo! Over here!”

  “Just ignore him,” I said through gritted teeth.

  But Dooley had already veered off course. I followed him with a tired moan.

  “Max!” Kingman said. “Meet Norma.”

  I stared at the small white cat splayed out next to Kingman. The name didn’t ring a bell. “Hi, Norma,” I said out of sheer politeness.

  “She’s the cat I told you about,” Kingman continued cheerfully. “About the sweatshop? I heard they closed down that operation. Can you believe it? A sweatshop? In our town? What is this, the nineteenth century or something?”

  I studied Norma with more interest this time. “So you were out at the sweatshop, huh?”

  “I was,” said the cat in a melodious voice.

  “That was really brave of you,” said Dooley.

  “Hardly,” said Norma. “Humans never take any notice of cats. I could come and go as I pleased, even slip past the guards and walk right into that place.”

  “So do you think this guy Ziv Riding was involved?” I asked.

  “Oh, definitely,” said Norma. “He came out there at least once a month, to check up on production, and do some spot checks for quality control. I’d say he knew exactly what was going on out there.”

  Now this was news. Kingman grinned excitedly. “I told you she’s the real deal, didn’t I, Max? Huh? You owe me, right? Big time. Am I right or am I right?”

  “You’re right,” I said reluctantly. Owing Kingman wasn’t much fun. I needed to bring him a piece of gossip at least equal in size to the Ziv Riding sweatshop story, which was going to prove hard. Then suddenly I got an idea.

  “Was Riding out there the night Niklaus Skad was killed?”

  Norma displayed a hint of a smile. “If I tell you, what’s in it for me?”

  Let me tell you, all cats are hustlers. There are no exceptions.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I heard you can talk to your human, is that true?”

  “Yeah, it’s true,” I said with a dark look at Kingman, who shrugged.

  “So tell her to bring me chocolate. And not the cheap kind Kingman’s human carries. I want Swiss chocolate. The really expensive stuff.”

  “I’ll get you your chocolate,” I told her. “But chocolate isn’t good for you.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “So? About Riding?”

  “He was in town. He drove up to the farm in his black Tesla around ten o’clock. Wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly. I heard him talking to the guards. He said he had an appointment in town. Said he needed to get rid of a pesky problem and that he’d never been there.”

  “Get rid of a pesky problem. Were those his actual words?” I asked.

  She gave me a cool, lingering look from beneath her long lashes. “I never lie, Max. If you’d bother to get to know me you’d realize that.”

  I gulped a little, and backed away slowly. The recent episode with Harriet and Diego was still fresh in my mind. I did not need female felines in my life right now. “Thanks, Norma,” I said. “Much appreciated.”

  “Thanks, Norma!” said Dooley. “And we’d love to get to know you, wouldn’t we, Max?”

  She gave Dooley an appraising look, then said, “No, thank you. I don’t date babies.”

  “Oh, burn!” Kingman shouted as Dooley and I walked away. “You owe me, Max!”

  “And don’t forget about the chocolate!” Norma added. “Swiss chocolate, Max! No cheap junk, you hear?!”

  I held up my paw to show her I’d heard her loud and clear.

  “What did she mean when she said she doesn’t date babies?” Dooley asked. “I’m not a baby. I’m just as old as you, Max. Should I have told her?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t need the complications of a relationship?”

  Dooley glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, but she looks really nice. I guess I could make an exception for her.”

  “Oh, Dooley,” I said.

  Chapter 31

  Odelia was on her way to the Gazette when a squad car waylaid her. The car jumped the curb and she bumped into the hood. What the… She was even more surprised when Chase called out from inside the car, “Get in! You were right!”

  “Of course I was right,” she said as she got in. She slammed the door shut. “What was I right about, exactly?”

  He gave her his best grin. “I owe you an apology, Odelia. First of all, you don’t have to feel obligated to reveal your sources to me. You’re a reporter. Your sources are sacred. I get that. Secondly, you were right about Riding. He and Skad were connected. Riding invested in Skad’s business, and threatened to reveal the sweatshop business if Riding didn’t increase his investment.”

  “I knew it!” she said, pounding the dashboard with her fist. “So what now?”

  “Now we’re going to talk to Riding. He’s staying at the Hampton Springs Hotel.”

  He put the car in gear and it bounced off the curb. “Oh, wait!” she said.

  He halted the car with a jerk and she opened the door to let Max and Dooley inside.

  “God, not those cats again!” Chase said.

  “They look tired,” she said. “They need a ride.”

  Actually they didn’t look tired. They looked excited.

  “Odelia! You were right!” Max cried. “Riding was in town the night Niklaus was killed. He even told one of the guards at the sweatshop that he needed to get rid of a pesky problem, and then he drove off. That was around ten o’clock.”

  “Did he do it, Odelia?” asked Dooley. “Did he kill Skad?”

  She couldn’t very well answer that with Chase in the car. One day she might tell
him about the cats, but not now. Not when he was convinced she was working with some secret informant.

  “She can’t talk with us in front of Chase, Dooley,” Max said.

  “Why not? Chase is a nice guy. He’ll understand.”

  “No, he won’t. He might be nice, but he’s also just a guy.”

  “He’s not just a guy. He’s Odelia’s guy,” Dooley insisted stubbornly.

  She smiled. “While you were finally realizing I’m always right, I had a word with my informant,” she said.

  “Oh? And what did they say?”

  “Riding was definitely involved with the sweatshop.”

  “Yeah, he came out here all the time,” Max chimed in.

  Chase grinned. “Your cats are talking again, Odelia. It’s so funny.”

  “Don’t mind them,” she said. “The night Skad was killed, he was in town. And I’m sure the sweatshop workers and the guards will be able to confirm that.”

  “I’ll talk to the NYPD officer in charge. He’ll be happy to hear it.”

  Chase had switched on the police siren and the blinkers and they were roaring through town, moving at a healthy clip. It only took them ten minutes to arrive at the hotel and Chase swung his car into a parking spot reserved for VIPs, right next to a black Tesla.

  “There’s something I haven’t told you yet,” Chase said as he cut the engine. “You know the best part?”

  “No, what?”

  He smiled. “Remember Abe found a fortune cookie in Skad’s stomach? Well, the sweatshop was full of the stuff. Bags and bags of them.” He popped a fortune cookie out of his pocket and handed it to her. “See how it says ZR?”

  “Ziv Riding,” she said slowly, turning the cookie over in her hands. “But how did it get into the victim’s stomach?”

  Chase shrugged. “Only thing I can think of is that Riding gave Niklaus the cookie and he ate it. And then Riding killed him.”

  “But wouldn’t the cookie have been chewed to pieces? I thought Abe said the cookie was still intact?”

  Chase frowned. “So?”

  “So I think Riding shoved that cookie down Skad’s throat and choked him with it.”

  Chase stared at her. “You have a devious mind, Odelia Poole. And you may just have solved our murder!”

  “Odelia is brilliant,” Dooley said.

  “Yeah, she is,” Max agreed.

  They got out and walked to the hotel. Now the only thing they needed to do was make Ziv Riding confess. How difficult could that be?

  They walked up to the lobby and Chase showed the clerk his badge and asked which room Ziv Riding was staying in. The hotel tapped a few keys. “Room five twenty-five. The Royal Suite. Mr. Riding always uses that suite when he’s in town.”

  Odelia and Chase shared a look. “Can you check a date for me?” Chase asked, and gave him the date Niklaus Skad was murdered.

  “No, he didn’t stay with us that night,” said the clerk.

  “Thanks,” said Odelia. That would have been too easy.

  “Do you know if Mr. Riding is in right now?” Chase asked.

  “You’ll find Mr. Riding by the pool,” said the clerk.

  They thanked him and walked through the lobby, through the restaurant and out to the pool, which was the heart of the hotel.

  “We keep ending up here,” said Chase as they stepped onto the flagged patch that lined the pool.

  “That’s him,” said Odelia, pointing. “Right there.”

  Riding had just hoisted himself up out of the pool, water streaming from his sculpted body in rivulets, and was stroking the water from his hair. He walked over to a chaise lounge and stood basking in the sun. He looked like a man who hadn’t a care in the world. Or a man with great lawyers.

  “Well?” asked Chase. “Let’s have a word with Mr. Riding, shall we?”

  The fashion designer looked up when a shadow fell across his face. “You’re blocking my sun,” he said kindly. “Please remove yourselves.” Then he recognized Odelia. “Oh, it’s you again. I already told you to make an appointment with the PR department. I’ll gladly talk to the media but not without an appointment. I think I made that abundantly clear.”

  Chase flashed him his badge. “Odelia may be a reporter, but she’s also a civilian consultant helping me work a case.”

  The man stared at the badge. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Kingsley. Chase Kingsley. Detective for the Hampton Cove Police Department.”

  The designer rolled his eyes. “Oh, dear. Look, I told you people I had nothing to do with this abominable sweatshop business. And you can rest assured that heads will roll once I find out who did. I don’t condone this kind of thing.”

  “We’re not here to talk about your sweatshop, Mr. Riding,” said Odelia.

  “We’re here to talk about Niklaus Skad,” said Chase.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes. I didn’t even know the man. I watched his crass show from time to time, but that’s as far as our association went.”

  “So he didn’t send you an email threatening to reveal your ‘dirty little secret?’” Chase asked.

  The designer pursed his lips. “You know what? I don’t think I’m going to talk to you at this moment, Detective. I seem to remember that everything I say can and will be used against me, so I’ll leave the pleasure of talking to you people to my lawyer, who’s more used to this sort of thing.”

  “You have a right to an attorney,” Chase agreed.

  “You sure do,” Odelia said. “And the first thing your attorney will tell you is that it wasn’t smart to drive that nice black Tesla of yours all the way up to Tucker’s Farm.”

  “Or to park it right behind Fry Me for an Oyster,” Chase added.

  “Oh, yes. Your car was seen that night, Mr. Riding.”

  “We even have a witness who overheard you telling one of your bodyguards you needed to get rid of a pesky problem in town.”

  “And then there’s that fortune cookie, of course,” said Odelia.

  “Did you know our coroner found that fortune cookie pretty much intact inside the victim’s stomach, Mr. Riding?” Chase asked.

  “That’s impossible,” Riding snapped. “A stomach doesn’t stop working when a person dies. It keeps digesting.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Odelia with a laugh. The guy might be a great designer, but he didn’t know much about death. Simply about causing it.

  The man gulped. “You found one of my fortune cookies in Niklaus Skad’s stomach?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Now I wonder how that got there?” Odelia asked.

  “Unless you shoved it down his throat until he choked, of course,” said Chase.

  The man just sat there for a moment, looking out across the pool, his face devoid of expression. The sun hung low in the sky. The day was drawing to a close and the rays slanting across the pool surface shimmered and glittered brightly. Suddenly, Ziv Riding reared up from his chaise lounge and dashed away along the pool, his bare feet slapping on the paved floor. He was a quick bugger.

  “Dammit,” Chase grumbled, before setting out in pursuit.

  Odelia watched as the cop raced after their suspect. And just when the designer had cleared the pool area, suddenly something blocked his path.

  “Hey!” he cried when his feet got entangled in two small, furry objects.

  Max and Dooley, for it was them, risked life and limb, but the intervention served its purpose, for the designer was forced to change course. Chase made a grab at him, but missed and almost toppled into the pool. And then, out of nowhere, a large black Portuguese Water Dog leaped at Riding and they both smashed into the pool.

  The dog came back up first, and easily paddled to the edge of the pool. Stacie Roebuck, who’d been reading a book by the pool, looked horrified.

  “Puck! Come back here! Bad boy!”

  But Odelia joined her and said, “No, he’s a good boy. A very brave, very good boy.” She winked at Stacie. “He just nailed
his owner’s killer.”

  Stacie stared at Ziv Riding, who came up, spluttering and splashing. When he saw that Chase was waiting for him, he kept paddling for a while.

  “You can’t keep doing that forever, Mr. Riding!” Chase called out.

  “Yes, I can!” the designer insisted. “And I want my lawyer! Get him out here! Right now! I’m not coming out without my lawyer!”

  Chase sighed. “Suit yourself.” He then dove into the pool. There was some more splashing, but finally Chase managed to collar his suspect and tow him in. He dragged him out of the pool bellowing, “Ziv Riding, you’re under arrest for the murder of Niklaus Skad. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Odelia picked up Max and Dooley. “My heroes,” she said softly.

  “All we did was get in the way of a known killer,” said Max.

  “Yeah, no big deal,” said Dooley.

  “Puck is the real hero,” Max added.

  “And so he is,” said Odelia.

  They watched as a soaking wet Chase led an equally wet Ziv Riding to the hotel.

  “So Mr. Riding killed Mr. Skad?” Stacie asked, just to be sure.

  “Yes, he did. Your boss was threatening to expose Riding’s sweatshop operation, which would have ruined his reputation with his investors and his clients.”

  “That little twerp killed my husband?” an irate voice interrupted Odelia. She saw that Cybil Truscott had gotten up from her chaise lounge. She hadn’t even noticed she was there.

  “Yes, he did,” she acknowledged.

  “Gah, and we just made dinner reservations,” said Cybil. “I guess I better cancel our date.”

  “Unless you want to have dinner in prison, I suggest you do,” Odelia said.

  She shook her head disgustedly. “Men. Either they die on you, or they go around killing other men. I think I’m going to become a lesbian. Less trouble.” She gave Stacie a lascivious glance. “Hey, gorgeous. Have we met?”

  “I was your husband’s assistant,” said Stacie. “We’ve met several times. Not that you ever noticed me. And for your information, I’m not a lesbian.”

  “Too bad. You’re pretty. Oh, well. I guess I’ll just stick to men. There must be someone out there who’s not a killer or about to die on me.” And she stalked off, the death of her husband clearly not affecting her very powerfully.