“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.
“I never liked that woman,” said Stacie.
“Me neither,” Odelia confessed.
“I guess she’ll inherit all of Niklaus’s fortune.”
Odelia smiled. “Didn’t anybody tell you? Shortly before he died, Niklaus changed his will. Apparently he hated Cybil so much he didn’t want to take any chances. So he left everything to Puck.”
Stacie goggled at her. “Puck? But he didn’t even like him.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. And I’m sure he was going to change his will again as soon as the divorce came through. But since he was killed before that happened…” She shrugged. “Puck is a very rich dog now.” She eyed Stacie seriously. “You did take the necessary steps to transfer ownership of Puck to you, right?”