Sesame Swallow | The Christmas Caper (Pt 1 of 6)

In ‘Sesame Swallow’s Christmas Caper,’ the city of Frederick, MD, faces chaos as a cherished Christmas ornament vanishes, casting a shadow over the festive season. As private investigator Sesame Swallow delves into town secrets, she uncovers a plot to ruin the Christmas celebration and shame the mayor. Racing against time, Sesame must unravel the mystery, save the mayor’s reputation, and restore the spirit of Christmas.

I looked back at the 911 message on my phone and the subsequent address. “This is the place,” I said as we climbed out of Lindsay’s black Tahoe XL.

“Are we Emergency Services now?” Regan hopped out behind me and stretched, all five-foot-seven of her. She reached up and touched up her hair, a high pony that made her almost six feet tall.

“Could we get our own special number? There’s 311 and 411 and 911.” Lindsay was last, her phone already in her hand. She was scrolling, her pink nails click-clicking away. “611 is for reporting problems with payphones, which, duh, aren’t even a thing anymore. Could we get that one?” She smiled and tugged at the lone platinum blonde curl that hung in her face.

I shrugged. “How about you look into it, huh?” I shot Regan a glance, and she replied with a hard eye roll. Appeasing Lindsay’s random ideas and outbursts was a skill I’d acquired over the last year, and I wasn’t sure if I was proud of myself or not. Achievement unlocked?

I surveyed the two ladies I’d come to think of as my crew and smiled. Regan, a leggy Black woman whose two tours in the Marine Corp sometimes made her a little too serious, and Lindsay, a platinum blonde wild child — they were my steady sleuthing companions and the most fun and steadfast friends a girl could ask for. As for me, well, I was the normal one, whatever that meant, but it always made me laugh to say it. Either way, the best thing about having a crew like this made all the shit we went through while solving mysteries worth it. No one ever saw us coming.

And here we were about to take on another mystery. The Mayor of Frederick, Maryland, had made the call two hours ago, and it’d taken that long to get ourselves together and on the road from Baltimore. Something was amiss, and we were the misses to figure that out. I took a quick look around as Armand, Lindsay’s driver, shut off the engine.

Photo by Lisa Fotios: https://www.pexels.com/photo/rain-of-snow-in-town-painting-730256/

On one side of the street, the Frederick City Park stretched out for blocks, the late afternoon sun already casting long shadows under the thick canopy of trees. Dozens of people were busy putting up signs with arrows and words I couldn’t make out from where we stood. On our side of the street, we’d stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of Frederick’s Today, Tomorrow, the Future Center, which it turned out was home to the City of Frederick’s largest community organization and the main hub of a small network that spoked out from the center in every direction.

“Let’s go, bitchachos,” I announced, and off we went.

The center itself took up the whole of a three-story building that used to be the home of a public high school in the 1800s, according to the Googles. We took the broad, marble staircase to the third floor, and I thanked my steady workouts that I wasn’t even feeling the climb when we reached the top. What I was feeling was warm, a little hungry and an intense desire to be anywhere else, but I wasn’t going to turn down a case on face value. The mayor wasn’t like a friend — we hardly ever even remembered Frederick was a place anyone would go, but his assistant’s assistant — I think that translated to coffee fetcher — had been in some of my CJ classes at Towson, and somehow he still had my number. And no, it’s not at all what you’re thinking. Group projects; research partners — nothing more.

At the top of the stairs, the whole place opened up, transforming the top floor into a grand gathering area. They’d decorated the whole place floor-to-ceiling with giant, paper snowflakes, elf and snowman appliques and hand-drawn posters made by the kids who were here after school and on the weekends. And it would have been a super cute spot, I thought, if the adults hadn’t taken it over and ruined it. Bad covers of Christmas classics blared from speakers overhead and dozens of people in questionable holiday attire milled around, stuffing their faces and gathering in loose groups full of conversation and This-Punch-Might-Be-Vodka enhanced laughter.

Just past the mob of holiday cheer and just in front of a small army of life-sized nutcrackers that looked to be guarding a squat, green Christmas tree, I spied the mayor and his entourage.

“Mr. Mayor?” I’d gone straight for the Black man in the middle who seemed to have the most furrowed brow. He was wearing a classic ugly Xmas sweater and suit pants. True professional holiday attire.

“Detective Swallow?” His hand swung right out with practiced care and caught mine before I could even meet him halfway. Strong handshake, good eye contact, and a winning smile. He was getting it right. I unfortunately wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I’m Deputy Mayor James Todd Smythe. But the mayor is here. She’s right over there fretting over the bauble, I’m afraid.”

He directed my gaze towards the plump Christmas tree, the army of nutcrackers and a series of fold-up tables littered with fancy boxes and Christmas decorations. Next to them, an ice sculpture dominated the scene in the shape of a Christmas angel. And in the midst of it all, a frail-looking woman in a turquoise pants suit was talking to a dude I recognized — Terry Sands. They were both fitting hooks to silver bells and putting them on the tree one at a time.

“That’s Nova Carter. She’s been the mayor here for two administrations, and it’s looking like a third is in the bag,” said Deputy Major Smith. “Well,” and a cloud passed over his face, “it will be if we get the ornament back in time.”

I looked back at the deputy mayor, and a quick survey of the other people’s faces confirmed what he’d said, even if I didn’t understand it.

“Ornament? You mean Christmas ornament?” Regan’s voice was full of irritation, and I wondered if there was a way for me to elbow her without anyone noticing.

“Doesn’t this place have a Lost and Found?” Bless you, Linds. I focused on the pain in the deputy mayor’s face and tried not to snicker. This is why these ladies were my crew.

“Can you tell me more, Mr. Smythe?” I had to keep a lid on it, and right then I turned around and mouthed to Linds, “Can we get something to drink?” She nodded and was off. She didn’t need to be told this would be easier if we were drinking.

Then, I turned back to the deputy mayor all smiles and customer service, while inside all I knew was dude better not have called us out here for a missing Christmas ornament. I was gonna charge full rate either way, but if they hadn’t called, we’d been setting up shop in Fells for the Christmas tree lighting there, followed by the annual lighted boat parade. Driving out to Fredneck to sift through someone’s lost and found for a Christmas ornament wasn’t on my website as a service.

“Shall we walk? There’s a bit of a story here, and it’s perfectly reasonable that you don’t appreciate the situation.”

I nodded, and we were off on a tour of the top floor, leaving the rest of the entourage behind, just Regan trailing.

“This building was first the town hall, back in 1832, when the city rebuilt the original structure after a fire. And then, in the early 1900s, it became a school for young boys and eventually a public middle school for the inner city children in 1966, just after Maryland ratified the Voting Rights Act. It wasn’t until 2001 that the building was deemed too small for our scholarly needs, so a small group of community-minded folk banded together to save the building from being demolished, and the center took shape two years later, following some remodeling and minor demolition.”

“I see, Mr. Smythe, but how does that relate to why I’m here?”

“Understood,” he said, turning and surveying the scene. We’d strolled to the far side of the floor, where the music had faded and the talk and laughter didn’t reach. A dozen or so small tables, surrounded by chairs perfectly sized for children, were littered with boxes of crayons, baskets of felt and scissors and the orange glue sticks that were critical to any child’s art project.

“The ornament, or “The Christmas Bauble” as it’s come to be known, has quite the history. Legend has it — and yes, pardon me, but we always talk about it as some kind of legend. Seems silly perhaps, but you’ll forgive us small town folk our idiosyncrasies.” He shrugged and leaned against the white wall, flanked by a rainbow-colored snowflake.

“The ornament in question, is it valuable in any other way?” Regan beat me to it. Maybe she was hungrier than I was. We were missing dinner right now. “Precious gems? Made by a famous artist?”

He shook his head. “No, none of that. Just a bauble that has come to represent the City of Frederick. When the tradition started, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. But each year, when the city decorates for Christmas, we plan the tree lighting across the street in the park, and everyone comes. The highlight of the event is the placing of the last ornament, the Bauble, a wooden sphere with the city’s seal engraved on it along with the city’s motto: Rich History. Bright Future. And this tiny creation with an origin more myth than memory has come to mean a great deal for the city, so much so that there’s a superstition associated with it.”

“Drinkies!” said Lindsay as she burst onto the scene, her hands full of paper coffee cups decorated in Christmas themes. She handed them out to each of us, including the deputy mayor, with the casual joy that seemed to follow her every footstep. “I spoke to a guy back there who swears these aren’t alcoholic, but I’ll be a Christmas elf on a shelf if this hot chocolate isn’t spiked with Baileys.”

I threw Mr. Smythe an apologetic look and took a sip. Ooh, it was delicious, warm and creamy, and oh so definitely alcoholic. I took another long sip, feeling the warm chocolaty goodness filling my mouth and sliding down my throat. Who said Frederick didn’t deserve a little attention now and again?

“Dude said the food was amazing and that it would be out in a bit if we stuck around.”

“Oh, trust me,” said the deputy mayor between sips. He seemed to relax a bit now. “The food is delightful. My husband is downstairs in the kitchen with the caterer. We’re sort of foodies, which isn’t easy in Frederick, but he owns a small catering business himself, and I have a food blog. We’re trying to get to San Francisco next summer for the wine and food scene and see the sights. I’d be happy to recommend a local restaurant if you like. There’s a wonderful Vietnamese place over on Rochford.”

“Thank you, but I think maybe we have something here that needs our attention?” I was loving the hot chocolate, and we were all about new restaurants, even if we had to hump it all the way to Frederick to try them, but priorities.

“Of course. Apologies.” And suddenly his tone changed, from congenial to excitement to what seemed like dread. “The superstition I mentioned can be more like a curse for the city. If the ornament isn’t placed on the city’s Christmas tree the night of the tree lighting, it will mean dire consequences for the city of Frederick.”

I stopped mid-sip, my ability to maintain some decorum unable to keep up with my face’s desire to express my disbelief. But I wasn’t going to say a word. Lindsay was here, after all, and she would take care of that part.

“Which episode of Scooby Doo is this? I wanna be Velma this time.”

It took a lot for me not to laugh and give her a high five, but I stepped in front of Linds as Regan grabbed her hand and oh so thoughtfully asked her where they could find more boozy hot chocolate. “I’m sorry, sir. You were saying this ornament is cursed?”

Deputy Mayor Smythe nodded, his face as serious as the grave. “If the mayor doesn’t place the ornament on the tree, there can be dire consequences. It’s happened three times in the city’s history, and each time there was a calamity. In 1955, there was a lynching. A dark day. In 1976, we experienced the Great Frederick Flood, in which much of the city’s center was destroyed. And in 2007, we experienced an outbreak of Newcastle disease, which decimated the local poultry population and resulted in birds dropping dead out of the skies.”

He shrugged, and I wondered how a Christmas ornament could bring on the apocalypse.

“Please,” he said, throwing his arms up as if defeat was already within reach. “It’s a silly thing, I know, but true or not, everyone here believes it. And the mayor needs your help. It’s enough that we’re worried about a curse, but each year that bauble went missing, the mayor lost the bid for re-election. There’s a lot at stake here. Can you help?”

I took a deep breath and peered into my empty cup of hot chocolate, picturing the looks on my girls’ faces when I told them. “Yes, of course. It’s not every day a girl gets to save Christmas.”