By Jon Moray
This Christmas story first appeared online for Little Old Lady Comedy in December 2024 and is about a town’s self-proclaimed Santa missing a very valuable piece of his attire. Enjoy!
Kitty LaCoocoo, organizer for all events throughout the year, dragged her feet into my office and sunk down on the chair. She can usually jingle anyone’s bells with her bubbly demeanor but today she looked like she had a snowball fight with school kids and lost.
My name is Gustavo Gottem, better known as Gumshoe Gus, private-eye in a one-horse town named Lone Pony. Lone Pony is a municipality infested with quirky, opportunistic outcasts, like the Island of Misfit Toys without the surrounding water and odd playthings.
“What’s troubling you, Kitty,” I asked, while spying snow falling carelessly out my second story window.
“It’s Mr. and Mrs. Klorrs. They are missing their patented Santa hat. The one with the crystals attached that emit a spectrum of light throughout the town and could alert air traffic control,” Kitty sniffed into a tissue.
Mr. and Mrs. Klorrs, pronounced Claus, were the main attraction for every Christmas Eve Parade. Him with his illustrious hat, and her with her special holiday cookies, whose recipe she swore to secrecy or if the price was right to reveal it. They made the most of their last name and parlayed it into being A-list yuletide celebrities. I was just dumped a lump of coal of a case that I had to solve, and with only two days until Christmas, I needed to dash away, dash away, dash away all with any clues I could gather.
My first stop was to the local dry cleaners. My thinking was a stolen Santa hat needed a neatly pressed Santa suit to match, and I filed that bit of reasoning under brilliant deduction number five-hundred and seventy-two. The proprietor informed me only one Santa suit was dry cleaned and it was brought in by the Lone Pony Lizard, the town’s daredevil acrobat, who was the big draw for all non-Christmas events throughout the year. His tree climbing on Arbor Day, running up poles on Flag Day, and scaling buildings on Edifice Day made him a living legend in the community. But, he often took off during the holidays, so something was amiss with this clue, and when something was off, a stakeout was not far behind.
I caught up with Kitty at Henry’s Hot Dogs From Who Knows Where, where hot dogs are so good, no one cares. Henry dyed the buns pine tree green and the hot dogs poinsettia red for the season, and the discolorations didn’t hurt his bustling business. Kitty was an excellent source for information since she knew a little something about everyone in town.
“Kitty, what do you know about the Lone Pony Lizard,” I asked, between bites of my delectable footlong.
“I know he asked me what I wanted for Christmas, after I told him I was going shopping tonight. He also inquired about gift wishes for several other people around town,” she answered, slurping on a candy cane flavored milkshake.
This new tip was hot, like chestnuts roasting on an open fire, as the pieces were starting to fit together. “Kitty, what do you and these other people the Lizard asked about have in common?”
Kitty shrugged, and tilted her head like a dog watching a reindeer lift its leg to relieve itself.
“Do you and these other people also have fireplaces,” I asked, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.
Kitty’s eyes widened the size of vintage, ornate ornaments. My plan was to stake out Kitty’s house with a hunch the perpetrator might make a sneaky appearance. He knew Kitty would be away until Kitty changed her plans, and I met up with her later at her home. We sipped hot cocoa and engaged in a rousing debate over whether it was ethical to white-out the scribbling greetings on received Christmas cards and resend them out the following year. My inner Scrooge argued yes, but Kitty rebutted with a slap to my face. Kitty won, hands down.
Just then, rustling came from the chimney. Kitty and I crouched before the fireplace, silent as a holy night. An arm appeared and I grabbed at it. The arm belonged to the Lone Pony Lizard, as he rolled over onto the fire wood. Mr. Klorrs’ Santa hat landed on his lap.
“Should I call Sheriff Cherub?” gasped Kitty.
“No, the sheriff is probably sipping on sherry, chardonnay, or champagne right about now. Call Mr. and Mrs. Klorrs instead.”
It was the Christmas season and I had a feeling our lizard friend’s motive was not of a criminal nature. I instructed him to save his story for the dynamic gift giving duo.
The Klorrs’ arrived with rosy cheeks and curious faces.
“I wanted to be the hero this Christmas,” the lizard man admitted. “I knew if you wore that luminous hat, I was no match for you, so while you and the Mrs. were shopping for hideous Christmas sweaters, I climbed on top of your home, slithered down the chimney and stole your hat. I only wanted it to surprise people with gifts in front of the fireplace.” The Lone Pony Lizard also explained he used Kitty’s home as a practice run. “Can you ever forgive me,” the lizard man asked.
The Klorrs’ faces warmed, as Kitty whispered something into Santa’s ear. The Seasonal Superman beamed a smile and nodded his head.
“Great idea, Kitty. Mr. Lizard, how would you like to be my personal elf assistant? You deliver gifts by chimney, I deliver gifts to the door.” The Lone Pony Lizard accepted with a choked back tear and the Klorrs’ merciful generosity decked my halls with warm sentiments.
The Christmas Eve Parade went off without a hitch. The Case of the Missing Santa Hat was solved, and all was well in the one-horse town called Lone Pony.
Moray Writes 