The Case of the Maltese Reindeer
by Barrett Schwalenberg S
imon Bell sat at his desk, sipping on a Bailey’s Hot Cocoa and staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. The florescent lights on the ceiling above flickered in the dark. Looks like another lonely Christmas, Simon thought to himself. Might as well head down to the pub and get a refill.
Donning his customary fedora and trench coat, Simon pulled out a cigarette. Before he could light it, there was a loud knock on the glass pane of the door, right where it read “S. Leigh Bell – Private Eye.” The glass made the knocks sound unnaturally masculine and loud, but Simon wasn’t fooled. They were the knocks of a dame. A pretty dame.
Curious, Simon eagerly opened the door only to reveal a short, rotund woman. She wasn’t ugly, but she was only attractive in the way the crooked-toothed lunch lady is attractive when she is holding your Taco Tuesday special.
The woman entered the room. The bags under her eyes were bigger than a sack of toys, and Simon could tell that she was a crier.
“I’m sorry to barge in at such a late hour, especially without an appointment, but there’s been a catastrophe. A Christmas Catastrophe!”
Simon closed the door calmly. He’d dealt with many distressed women and, while he preferred the fire haired ones with voices as smooth as a glass of cold milk and legs you’d like to get to know better, he was confident he could let this one down easy.
“My apologies, ma’am, but I’m not taking on any new cases at the-” “I’ll pay you two thousand dollars cash! Up front!”
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he bar was dingy, but then again so was the town. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d go to drink away your sorrows in peace, it’s where you’d go if it was trouble you wanted. And trouble was just what Simon was looking for.
He slammed back another shot. He didn’t know what he was drinking, but it tasted like Christmas. His late-night client had an interesting case. She worked the late shift at the museum in the city, and she had recently had the fortune of acquiring the Maltese Reindeer for her exhibit. It was rumored that the artifact held the key to some sort of mystic Christmas magic, but Simon didn’t buy into that sort of nonsense.
Unfortunately, the night before this ancient holiday relic was supposed to go on display, it was stolen. The security cameras had been disabled and the only thing the arthritic, dementia-riddled security guard had seen was a man with ‘wild Doc Brown hair.’
THE GRAVEYARD EXAMINER • DEC 20, 2011 - JAN 9, 2012 7
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