PHIL KAGAN STRUTTED into the interview room and took a seat opposite the investigators.
“Feeling better, Phil?” Claire asked.
“I am. Thank ye,” he said. He clapped his hands and made a funny face.
“What was the problem?” she asked.
“The problem?” Phil asked.
“What was wrong with you?” Claire said.
“Oh. That. I guess it was a flu bug,” Phil said. “And now it flew away.” He chortled.
“Phil, why did you take the two books from our room?” Claire asked.
His face indicated he was startled by the question. “Um. I wanted to look at them. Is there a problem?”
“You bet there is,” Guy said. “You took those books without our permission. And you didn’t tell us that you took them. We had to find out on our own how they mysteriously disappeared from our room.”
“Well, excuse the heck out of me. Obviously, most folks in these parts are a lot kinder and more generous than the two of you.” Phil furrowed his brow and then broke into inappropriate laughter. “Folks around here don’t get bent out of shape when people borrow things.”
“Does that include guns?” Claire asked.
Phil’s comical expression began to wane, and he looked at her without blinking. “Funny. Real funny. Remind me to laugh.”
“Where are the books, Phil?” Claire asked.
“Where are they?”
“That is the question,” Claire said.
“Well, they’re either in my car or at my place,” Phil said. “I guess I’m not sure.”
“Where do you live, Phil?” Claire asked.
“What an odd question. Where do you both live?” Phil asked. He made a silly face.
“What is your address, Phil?” Guy asked. “We’d like a street address.”
“Well, now, that is something I don’t give out,” Phil replied. “What could you possibly want with my street address?”
“Phil, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. If you’d prefer, we can get the sheriff involved right now,” Guy said. He reached for his cell phone as he stared at the man. “We want an answer to our last question, and we want it now.”
“Pushy, pushy, pushy,” Phil said.
“Your address. What is it?” Guy thundered.
“Well, I live north and east of Bigfork in an older house.”
“The address of the older house?” Guy asked. His anger mounted by the second, and in the worst way, he wanted to grab this Kagan fellow around the neck and force the information out of him.
“Um. I have to think. As I said, I never give it out,” Phil said. He placed his index finger under his mouth and started to tap it.
Claire sensed that Guy was close to his breaking point. She reached under the table for his knee and squeezed it tightly, signaling for him to hold tight.
Both investigators stared at the inane-acting man. Neither said a word.
Two minutes passed in utter silence. And then two more.
Phil moved from side to side in his chair. He whistled softly and glanced around the room. He picked at his nails and touched his neck.
Still, the investigators said nothing, using the power of silence to make Phil Kagan increasingly more uncomfortable.
Sweat dripped from Phil’s forehead and into his eyes, and he rubbed them. He turned his head upward and squinted his eyes, as if trying to remember. He scratched his head. Still, Claire and Guy did not speak.
“Shit!” Phil finally boomed. “How long is this show going to last? I need to go out and buy some buttered popcorn if it’s going to go on.”
“Your address?” Claire asked.
Suddenly, Phil’s humor seemed less apparent. “Do you have paper and a pen?”
Claire passed him both.
He jotted down an address and handed it over.
“Whom do you live with, Phil?” Claire asked.
“Whom do I live with?” Phil repeated.
“That’s what I asked you,” Claire said.
“Well, a couple of other people live there in the house and share the rent. It’s a big old house,” Phil replied.
“Who are these other people?” Claire asked.
“A couple of ladies,” Phil replied. “They’re both employed, and the rent they pay me helps make ends meet. Is there a law against that?”
“Do you own a gun, Phil?” Guy asked. His question was direct and unexpected.
At this point, the atmosphere of the meeting turned undeniably somber, and the clown part of Phil retreated completely.
“No, I do not,” he replied. “I do not own a gun.”
“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Guy asked.
“Yeah, I know how to shoot a gun. Everyone in this state probably does,” Phil replied.
“You visited with Blake Helms quite often,” Claire said. “You told us that in our previous interview. Other people also shared this information with us. Blake discussed with you many things he read or learned concerning the Native American tribes of this area.”
“He was a friend. So yes, we talked,” Phil said. “He shared things with me that he had read on the topic. I told you, I found it all fascinating.”
“What did Blake talk about in the days immediately preceding his murder?” Claire asked.
“In regards to what?” Phil asked. He looked at the investigators, his already-somber expression turning even graver.
“Anything. What did he talk about? Had he made a discovery about something in the books he was reading? Something perhaps you found intriguing?” Claire asked. “Something that made you take the books from us to look at them for yourself?”
Phil did not respond.
“What had Blake discovered, Phil?” Claire persisted. “Was it something worth killing for?”
Phil leaned back in his chair. “I want a lawyer.”
“That’s fine, Phil,” Guy said. “We won’t ask you any more questions, but we do want the books. And we want them now. We’re going to walk to your car with you and see if they’re in there.”
Phil and the investigators stood up. They trailed the chef to his car in the parking lot. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, selected one, and opened the trunk. The books were inside. He handed them to Claire.
“Don’t plan on leaving town,” Guy said to Phil.
THE SLEUTHS walked back to the lodge and stepped into the lobby. Guy pulled out his cell phone, called Sheriff Bell, and filled him in on the development with Phil Kagan. Claire walked over to the sofa, sat down, put the books next to her, and pulled the photo album to her lap. Guy joined her.
“Let’s look at these pictures again,” Claire said. She turned to the photos of the lobby area and carefully considered each one of them. Then, unexpectedly, her eyes fell upon the blankets underneath the saddles, and she focused her concentration on them. Is that a sleeve on the deerskin one? With fringe? she thought to herself. She was confused. Jay had said they were blankets, and they both looked like blankets at first glance. But why would a blanket have a sleeve? Then, in her mind’s eye, Running Cloud’s fringed shirt flashed quickly before her, and her thoughts went into a spin.
All at once, it hit her. “We’ve been going about this all wrong!” Claire shrieked. “I’ve felt that the answer was here, in front of me, in these photos, in this lobby. Running Cloud said so. I saw with my eyes, but I didn’t really see it all.” Running Cloud’s exact words screamed out in her subconscious. Pale lady, you look with your eyes, but you do not see. “We completely forgot to gaze beyond the saddles, because we were told they had so little value.”
“Not sure I’m following,” Guy said.
“What do you see when you look right here in these photos?” Claire asked. She pointed to particular spots.
“Two saddles, sitting above the lobby, on a railing, in a wall cubbyhole,” Guy said.
“What else do you see?” Claire said. “Look again. Let your eyes really see.” Again, the words of Running Cloud thundered back to her.
“The blankets,” Guy said. “Is that it? Jay said the antique store had thrown them in with the saddles to sweeten the deal.”
“Yes, in part. One is a blanket. But actually, the other looks like an old, fringed deerskin shirt. See? There’s a sleeve. My guess is, it’s part of a Blackfoot costume. Look at the porcupine quills and glass beads and painting on it. They’re barely visible, but they are there.” She remembered vividly the entire outfit worn by Running Cloud.
Claire grabbed one of Blake’s books and handed the other to Guy. “I’ll bet if we look, we’ll find the shirt in one of these two books. I’ll bet Blake Helms was reading these books on Blackfoot clothing and recognized that a shirt in an illustration was the one here in the lodge—sitting under one of the old saddles. I’ll bet Blake told Phil Kagan about it, and that’s what got Blake murdered.”
“Slow down, Claire,” Guy said. “Let’s take this one step at a time.” He opened the book Claire had given him and began to browse through the pages.
Claire, likewise, looked through the other book.
The books were thick and contained numerous color illustrations as well as black-and-white sketches, and the two searched for close to an hour before the answer surfaced.
“Is this it?” Claire asked. She held her book alongside the photograph, and compared the two shirts. “I think we have a match,” she said. “The shirt is part of a ritual costume. Look here. Leggings went with it, too. It had a high price in its day. Apparently in the early 1800s, one scalplock suit—that’s what it was called—could be traded for thirty horses. I can only imagine its worth today.” Claire looked further at the book text. “It says the stripes and dots painted on the upper portion of the shirt—in the yellow area—are a reminder of the sacred war shirt allegedly handed over to the Blackfoot by bear spirits.”
“You just found the real motive for the murder,” Guy said. “Greed. And all bets are now solidly on Phil Kagan.”
“You’re right, in part,” Claire said. “But there’s more to it.”
Guy didn’t hear her. “Time is of the essence,” he said. “If Phil knows we’ve figured out the motive, he’ll hide the shirt where it’ll never be found.”
Claire pulled her cell phone from her purse and called Sheriff Bell. “We just discovered something you’ll want to see, sheriff. Can you meet us at the Bigfork Post Office right away? We need your help. And we’d better move fast.”
Claire grabbed both books and the photo album. “Come on, Guy,” she said. “Suddenly, it’s all coming together—and quickly.”
The investigators bolted from the lodge, raced to the green Land Rover Discovery 4 X 4, and tore off. As they exited the parking lot, Jay was just pulling in. He rolled his window down to say hello. They kept going.
Arriving at the post office in record time, the investigators waited for the sheriff in agony. It was a drive for him to come from Polson, and each minute seemed like twenty. When he pulled into the lot, the investigators ran to his car.
“We need to find out whose mail is delivered to Phil Kagan’s post office box. And it’s imperative we learn this at once. We need your help to do it,” Claire said. “Trust us, please. We’ll fill you in on everything.”
The three rushed into the post office, and the sheriff asked a clerk for the information.
“I’ll check,” the woman said. “It will be just a moment.” She got on her computer. “How do you spell his last name?”
“K-a-g-a-n,” Guy said.
“We deliver to three people at that box,” the woman said. She listed the names aloud.
“Can you confirm his street address, also?” Guy asked.
The worker wrote down his address on a small sheet of paper and handed it to Guy. It was not the same address Phil had written down for them during his interview that morning. No surprise there. The investigator quickly memorized the correct address and handed the note to the sheriff.
“That’s what we needed. Thank you,” Claire said.
The three raced from the building.
“Just as I thought!” Claire said. “Sheriff Bell, we need a search warrant for Phil Kagan’s house. How fast can you get it?”
“I’ll drive to the courthouse and ask for it now,” the sheriff said. “I don’t have time to draft up an affidavit setting forth probable cause, so I’ll have to beg for the court’s leniency and argue the case verbally. I’ll explain that it’s an emergency. I’ll try to get to the Kagan residence as soon as possible, but it will take me some time. And I’ll bring some patrol deputies with me.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Claire said. “We’re heading over now to observe. Please hurry!”
Both cars raced from the lot.
Claire picked up her cell phone and dialed Jay’s number.
“What’s your policy on married couples, or people from the same family, working at the lodge, Jay?” she asked.
His answer confirmed her suspicions.
Claire then called Sergeant Massey of the Miami-Dade Police Department. He owed her many favors, and she needed a couple right now. She asked him to obtain information on two individuals as quickly as possible, and he readily complied. Impatiently, she waited on the line while he searched his sources. The surprising information he came back with raised her eyebrows. It was crucial to putting the case together.
When Claire and Guy arrived at the Kagan residence, they parked down the street, but within viewing range. From their vantage point, the sleuths could see the two worn-out saddles sitting alongside the house, near the driveway.
“Let’s see what they do with those,” Guy said. “If they leave them, we’ll let the sheriff know so he can pick them up.”
They sat, watched, and waited. An hour passed. And then two. While they waited, Claire went over the details of the case.
“Just when you think it may never come together, boom!” she said. “It does! Here’s what happened: When the employee from the Gem Mountain Sapphire Mine called me and said she remembered it was Dalia Young—the Mountain Lake Lodge housekeeper—who had visited the mine recently, it didn’t make sense at first. But then a short while later, it all started to click. If Dahlia Young had been the one to traipse sapphire gravel in and out of the lodge on the early morning of the killing, then Dahlia Young could have also been the one who stole Heidi’s gun and ammunition. They worked together cleaning the rooms, and Dahlia would have had ample opportunity to purloin the revolver and bullets at any time.”
“Go on,” Guy said, intrigued.
“But it also didn’t make sense to me that she acted alone,” Claire said. “What was her motive? Then when we learned about Blake having a recent discovery pertaining to the Blackfoot tribe, Phil Kagan came to mind. Blake would most likely have shared any such news with Phil—even before LoLo. But what was the connection between Phil and Dahlia? Dahlia is a twenty-four-year-old housekeeper. Phil is a fifty-one-year-old chef. The lodge employs both individuals.”
“Did Sergeant Massey help make the connection?” Guy asked.
“He did. But hang on,” Claire said. “Then Hazel Schroeder entered the picture, wearing that expensive diamond ring. A fifty-two-year-old woman—once blonde, but now sporting auburn-colored hair—and also a lodge employee. Phil Kagan and Hazel Schroeder began their employment at the lodge at almost the same time, five years ago. I checked the dates on their applications. Dahlia joined the staff three years ago.”
Guy listened with rapt attention.
“I know now that Mountain Lake Lodge has a policy prohibiting married couples, dating couples, or people in the same family from being employed there at the same time. Jay confirmed it,” Claire said. “So, Hazel used her maiden name when she filled out her application to work at the lodge. She kept her marriage to Phil Kagan a secret, and he, too, did not disclose his marriage to her when he applied. Then when their daughter Dahlia moved to Montana, the ruse continued. Dahlia had been married and divorced, so she used her married name to apply for employment at the lodge, and Jay and Piper were none the wiser. The three did not socialize with other staffers or each other, and the deceit continued unabridged.”
“Amazing,” Guy said.
“It was when Blake shared his recent discovery of the Blackfoot ritual costume shirt with Phil that things became complicated,” Claire continued. “Phil saw a grand opportunity before his eyes. A meal ticket to becoming wealthy and living like a king. A chance to quit his mundane job at the lodge and live the luxurious life of his dreams. It was within his reach. The only roadblock standing in his way was Blake Helms. No one else knew about the found treasure. I’m sure Blake unwittingly confirmed that for Phil. But how could Phil get away with stealing the shirt and selling it for a huge sum as long as Blake was still alive? He couldn’t. So by sharing what he’d learned with Phil, Blake sealed his own fate. Phil concocted the plan, and Hazel and Dahlia became willing participants.”
“And Dahlia’s involvement?” Guy asked.
“I believe Phil asked Dahlia to steal Heidi’s gun and ammo,” Claire said. “After all, most of the staff members knew she carried them both in her purse. That was the easy part. Then, I believe Phil, Hazel, and Dahlia all surprised Blake with a visit in the early-morning hours—and killed him. You can only imagine how shocked and bewildered Blake would have been when he saw the three of them walk in at the same time at that hour. He never even knew they were related. It must have been a moment of raw confusion for Blake Helms.”
Claire paused as if deep in thought. Her mind raced to the time she looked into the lodge from an aerial perspective, with the help of Running Cloud. She had seen the murderer standing in front of the check-in desk that awful night, cloaked in shadows. Now she realized the shadows had been his accomplices. And she remembered the expression on Blake’s face, too.
She continued. “I believe Dahlia tracked the sapphire gravel in on her shoes. And I believe Phil Kagan walked up to Blake, with the others at his sides, lifted the gun out from under his jacket, and pulled the trigger five times. That is why Blake put up no resistance. It was totally unexpected. It was a surprise attack. He thought Phil was his friend.”
Guy stared at Claire, taking it all in.
“From there, my guess is that the three of them lifted out paintings—both to throw blame onto the Whitefish burglar and to sell the pieces for quick cash—and then they stole the saddles, blanket, and shirt,” Claire went on. “They tore up the lobby to make it look as if the robber were searching for hidden valuables, and then they left under the cover of darkness. It would have taken the three of them—moving rapidly after Blake was murdered—to haul the stolen items out of there and be gone by the time Heidi arrived to confront Blake at 2:45 a.m. My guess is Phil, Hazel, and Dahlia got to the lodge just after 1:00 a.m., which fits, because Blake’s time of death was placed between 1:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. Their plan was carefully conceived before they carried it out, and the trio worked with great urgency. The paintings were an added bonus, you see, but the prize was the Blackfoot fringed shirt.”
Guy shook his head, absorbing it all.
“And it was Phil and Hazel who asked the teenage boy in Polson to sell two paintings to the frame shop, and they put that money down to buy Hazel’s diamond ring.” Claire paused. “It was also Phil and Hazel who asked the frame shop owner all about us the day of the art festival. It was Phil alone who sold other pieces of artwork to various galleries on his ‘sick days,’ wearing a fake mustache to cover up that irregularly shaped birthmark above his upper lip—something that could easily identify him. I’m sure the shop owners will verify the fact that it was Phil Kagan. Right now, Sheriff Bell’s office is working on getting those confirmations.”
Guy’s eyes darted to the house, as they had every couple minutes since Claire began to wrap it all up for him.
“And I’m sure Phil Kagan is now offering the priceless shirt to collectors on the black market for an unconscionable price,” Claire said. “All of this will come out at trial.”
Just then, Guy motioned to the house. “They’re on the move!”