The Case of the Three Kings / El caso de los Reyes Magos

by Alidis Vicente

  I had started slowly retreating into my mosquito netted bed when I overheard a group of kids in the living room talking about gifts they hoped to receive from the Three Kings. Part of my inner detective became curious. I got my note pad and decided to join the conversation, just for background information. The kids seemed to be about my age. I had no idea how I was related to them, and even if they tried to explain, I would probably have trouble picturing this giant family tree made of people I didn’t know. Mamita had thirteen kids in total. There was no way I wanted to begin deciphering that family code. Perhaps later in my career.

  I sat on the couch and started questioning a girl named Mari. She was pretty but frail. She had Mamita’s color eyes and blonde hair. “So Mari, what do you guys do here on Three Kings Day?”

  “You know, food, music, getting the grass. The regular stuff,” she answered. Wow, she was really great with the details, wasn’t she?

  “Actually, I don’t know what’s done,” I confessed. “I’ve never had a Three Kings Day.”

  The other kids in the living room exchanged surprised looks.

  “You don’t celebrate Three Kings Day out there? Well, we Puerto Ricans celebrate it. It’s a major holiday. Some people think it’s more of a celebration than Christmas,” said a boy named Joel.

  I imagined him to be a surfer. He had cool-looking sunglasses on the top of his head and a surfing-style T-shirt. But what did he mean, “we Puerto Ricans”? Was he not including me in that group? Was I not Puerto Rican, just because I didn’t celebrate Three Kings Day? The more answers I got to my questions, the more questions I had. I began writing my thoughts in my note pad, but the itching feeling on my legs was really strong. I couldn’t ignore it. If I would’ve scratched my bites, they might’ve gotten infected. So I started slapping my legs to make the unbearable sensation go away.

  “What are you doing? And what happened to your legs?” asked another kid named Rubén.

  This wise guy seemed like trouble. I know a mischief-maker when I see one. Rule 1 in detective work: Trust your gut. My gut said Rubén was no good.

  “Moquitos,” I replied.

  Rubén started laughing. Hysterically laughing, more like it. “Moquitos! The moquitos got her!”

  The rest of the crew on the couch joined in his roaring. Was it something I said?

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Moquitos come from your nose. Mosssquitoes are the insects,” said Ruben.

  Really? I missed one little s in a word, and I had gone from being bitten by a flying blood thief to being bitten by boogers?

  Rubén taunted me. “Be careful tonight, Flaca. Watch out for those moquitos. They’re the worst!”

  All around me were laughing faces, fingers pointing at me like I was some type of freak show. I got mad. Like super, flaming, about-to-blow-up furious. I stood up, stormed out of the screened front door and walked right over to the edge of the road overlooking a pasture full of cows. I yelled as loudly as I could for as long as my lungs allowed. I felt so good afterward that I did it again. Then I realized I was being stared at by a bunch of cows who probably thought I was a lunatic. I looked down at my feet and noticed I had no shoes on, just like the kids I had seen walking around when I had first arrived at Mamita’s. I almost looked like them. But I wasn’t like them. I was NOTHING like ANYONE around here, and that was a good thing. The entire fiasco with those kids inside reminded me of who I was and would always be. Detective Flaca was back and more determined than ever! I would show them. I was going to expose Three Kings Day for what it really was: a sham. A holiday full of Christmas-gift leftovers! I’d be the one with the last laugh in the morning.

  I sat on a patio bench in front of Mamita’s house and plotted my revenge on my detective pad. I would need all my newest gadgets and some of my old, reliable tools. Every piece of equipment I’d brought on this trip was essential. There was no time to spare. In the heat of my preparation, Mamita walked out onto the patio.

  “Writing a letter?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  Mamita didn’t move. She stood there with her eyes burning through my paper, holding a woven straw basket.

  “Are you trying to read what I’m writing?” I asked.

  “I can’t read. Even if I could, I’m not interested. I’m waiting for you to come with me, and I’m not getting any younger.”

  Normally I would reply with something sassy, but I got a feeling Mamita wasn’t going to back down. I got up, tucked my note pad under my arm and followed her lead. She walked me around her house and down a hill into what seemed like a jungle. I was surrounded by greenery and could just feel tiny little bites forming on top of the swollen, itchy bites I already had. Why was everybody around here torturing me?

  Mamita stopped in front of a row of plants with white stuff on them and handed me the basket.

  “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “You talk too much. Just pick the cotton.”

  Cotton? I looked more closely at the white plant. I reached out my fingers and touched a soft material. She was right, it was cotton! I never knew cotton came from a plant. I always thought it came from a pharmacy. Mamita continued down the row of shrubs and began to pick different kinds of beans, handing them to me to put in the basket. I figured she would be using them for tonight’s feast.

  The tree leaves around us rustled together, and my clothes blew in the wind. I glanced over in Mamita’s direction. Her blue eyes were closed, and her face was tilted back in the wind, smiling. I decided to do what she was doing. I felt the trees moving, I heard animals I couldn’t see, and I saw the brightness of the sun through my eyelids. Then it was all interrupted by two chickens chasing after each other, running between Mamita and me. We looked at each other and laughed.

  “You don’t like it here, do you, Flaca?” my great-grandmother asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Is that a yes?”

  I nodded. The lady told me I talked too much. So now I wasn’t going to talk.

  “You know, you’re not as pretty as your sister.”

  Great, another person reminding me of how gorgeous La Bruja was and how much “potential” I would have if I dressed in a more girly way or wore more smiles. Now I was throwing the beans into the basket.

  “You’re not as pretty, but you’re smarter.”

  I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She had my attention now. Finally, someone had noticed my brilliance.

  “You’re so smart, but don’t be blinded by your intelligence. You feel like you don’t belong here. But if you’re here, it’s because you do. I have lived here all my life. I gave birth to each of my children in that very house. And you, you are the granddaughter of my first child. If it weren’t for this land, these plants, this island, you wouldn’t be here today. Remember that.”

  I nodded and smiled.

  “I know you’re just hearing me right now, but one day, you will listen,” she said.

  We finished picking the beans together and gathered some mangoes and starfruit along the way back to the house. I helped her bring the basket inside and escaped to my mosquito net. I liked Mamita. I really did. She might’ve even had a point or two, but her speech hadn’t changed anything. The Case of the Three Kings was very much open.

  CHAPTER 6

  Time to Catch the Kings

  Just before the sun set, all the children in my mother’s family gathered their boxes and filled them with grass in front of Mamita’s house. The adults were outside too, watching their kids and chatting. La Bruja had emerged from her cave and was laughing at me as I simultaneously picked grass and swatted flying insects that seemed to be swarming only me.

  My father breathed down my neck as he took a million pictures of me stuffing the box. He begged for me to smile, but the most he got was an eye roll. On the sidelines, my mother grinned and waved. The
y seemed so happy to see me interacting with my cousins. Little did they know I had an ulterior motive. Later that night, I would stick the box under my bed with a glass of water. When everyone was sleeping, I’d stay up all night for the stakeout. I’d spy on those “kings,” whoever they were, and catch them red-handed. The nerve of them, recycling Christmas gifts! The following morning, I’d expose them to those teasing kids from the day before and burst their bubble about their precious holiday. Ha!

  It took hours, and I mean HOURS, for everyone to leave. They were too busy with a routine I had caught onto: eat, dance, talk, repeat. There was a giant festival happening in people’s houses all over the island. Some towns even had parades. I had to admit the food was good. Really good. And I drank a lot of soda. I even snuck in some coffee after dessert. I needed the caffeine if I was going to stay up all night.

  When the crowd finally left, I followed the plan. I let my parents watch me put the grass and water under my bed, and, yes, they were taking more pictures. I’d be borrowing their camera later to snap shots of the famous visitors everyone was expecting. Without cold, hard evidence you can’t prove a thing.

  Since I had so much trouble sleeping in Mamita’s house, I would have no problem staying awake until I heard La Bruja’s snoring and Mamita shuffle into her bedroom. That was my cue. Once I heard it, I slowly and stealthily unzipped myself out of the mosquito net and stuffed my pillows under the sheets, in case my parents woke up for a midnight bathroom trip. If they realized I wasn’t in bed, my investigation would be ruined. I tiptoed to my detective equipment. My grandfather’s glasses, aka my magnifying glasses: check. Straw hat: on. Fingerprinting set: in hand. Police tape: under arm. Dad’s camera: hanging over my shoulder. Police-quality flashlight: nice and bright. It was stakeout time.

  I stationed myself behind the china cabinet in the kitchen. The guest bedroom door was just on the other side of it. The visitors would never see me there. Just when they entered my room, I’d catch them, take their picture and bring them into the living room for questioning. I’d get to the bottom of this holiday in no time. I wanted to know its purpose, why they did it and what they were trying to prove by stealing and/or regifting Christmas presents. My eyes were peeled. My ears were at their highest level of sensitivity. I was ready. I stared at the clock on the oven: 12:34. They’d be coming any minute. Any minute. But the clock was becoming blurrier and blurrier. Its light wasn’t shining so brightly anymore. The batteries must’ve been running out.

  The next thing I knew, the rooster was crowing. How was that possible? It was only 12:34. My back was stiff. I felt a shot of pain go up my neck as I looked at the clock. It was 5:45! How did five hours pass?! There was no way I had fallen asleep. I was a professional. Expert detectives don’t doze off during night shifts. I must have been sabotaged. Somehow, I had been watched and exposed to a sleeping gas of some sort.

  I leapt to my feet and snuck into my room. I used my flashlight to look under my bed. The glass was empty, and the box of grass was half-empty. There were also presents next to my bed. I shone the flashlight on the floor to make sure I didn’t bump into anything on the way out to look for more clues, and BINGO! There was a trail of grass starting at my bed. I followed it. It went from the bed through the living room, ending at the front door.

  Immediately, I sprang into action. I used my police tape to block off any entry around the grass trail in the living room. I needed to study it closely. My fingerprint kit would come in handy. I used it to dust down the front doorknob. I’d need to get a full panel of prints on everybody in the house once the morning arrived. It was necessary to rule out all suspects.

  I was in the middle of looking for footprints on the living room floor when I heard a noise behind me. Could they be back? Quickly, I turned around and began taking pictures with my camera.

  “What’s going on?!” asked a familiar voice.

  I put the camera down and directed my flashlight at the culprit.

  “Flaca? Is that you? What are you doing?”

  “Mamita, shh! Please, do not cross the police tape. It’s okay, I’m just working.”

  “What have you done to the living room?” she whispered. “And why are you wearing a straw hat and huge glasses? You don’t even wear glasses.”

  I sighed. I guess I’d have to offer some sort of explanation to get her away from my crime scene as fast as possible. I had work to do and little time do it before the kids came back to open presents together.

  “Mamita, you don’t know this about me, but I’m a detective. A big one. I’m very famous where I’m from. There is something going on with this holiday of yours, something that isn’t right. Flying camels, anonymous Three Kings creeping into your house . . . It just doesn’t make sense. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish up the investigation.”

  Mamita looked around the living room. She seemed to be studying my work. Clearly, I must have impressed her already. It’s not every day you find out your great-granddaughter is a hotshot detective. Who could blame her?

  “What are you planning to do with the information, once you find out who is behind this holiday?”

  “Well, that’s easy. I’m going to announce my findings when all the kids come together to open gifts. They think I’m a joke, but they won’t for long.”

  I continued sorting through the grass, trying to find some type of clue left behind. Anything that could help me identify who might’ve been behind this mess was key. But that was cut short, because Mamita jerked me off the floor by the arm and walked me down the hallway to the kitchen.

  “Hey! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!” I whispered.

  “Be quiet, or you’ll wake up your parents, and then you’ll really be in deep grass,” Mamita said.

  She took me outside the back door and out to the chicken coop. She picked up a gallon of dried corn she stored on the side of the house and began throwing it on the ground. Hens and roosters came running, racing one another for first dibs at breakfast. It occurred to me there were fewer chickens than I remember there being a few days before. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Last night’s dinner feast suddenly didn’t seem so yummy.

  “Listen, I’d really love to help you feed your chickens, but I have to go. Everyone will wake up soon, and I have to have this whole thing figured out by then.”

  I was about to start walking back to the house when Mamita said, “Who do you think will feed the baby chicks their breakfast?”

  “The hens, of course,” I answered.

  “But did they? Did the hens really give them their breakfast? Or did I?”

  I wasn’t sure what Mamita was getting at with this chicken breakfast speech, but I knew it was a trick of some sort. I was being tested. Luckily for me, I ace tests.

  “Technically, you both did,” I said.

  “But does it really matter who fed them?”

  “No, what matters is that they ate.”

  “Exactly.” Now Mamita was smiling.

  I still didn’t know what she was getting at. The signs of a sunrise were starting to peak through from the far end of the sky. Time was ticking.

  “Flaca, the children who celebrate Three Kings Day, they are like the chicks. It doesn’t matter where they get their gifts from or who makes the trail of grass. What matters is they are surrounded by people who love them and get to see them smile this morning. Would you go into the chicken coop and take the breakfast from these baby chicks? If you could, would you tell them it was me who gave them their food and not their mothers?”

  I thought about what it would be like to speak Chicken. That would be a pretty useful skill around these parts. I also thought about Mamita’s question.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint them,” I said.

  “Then please don’t disappoint the children this morning,” Mamita said. “This holiday may not be a big deal to you, but to some people it means a lot. It’s something to look forward to. Don’t take that away from them.” />
  Then it hit me. Of course these adults and older kids didn’t think there were flying camels delivering presents and eating grass under their beds, but they celebrated Three Kings Day anyway. It wasn’t about the gifts or even the kings. It was about dancing. It was about being together. It was about believing in family, and Mamita believed in me.

  I began to walk back to the house. “Come on,” I said.

  “Where are we going?” asked Mamita.

  “To get ready for Three Kings Day.”

  I couldn’t see Mamita’s face behind me as I walked up the hill, but I knew she was smiling.

  Once inside, we took down the police tape and cleaned up the fingerprint dust. I gave Mamita a high five and snuck back into the mosquito net. If I was lucky, I could get a couple more hours of sleep before the day began.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Chicks Are Fed

  A few hours later I was awakened by La Bruja groaning and kicking me in the back. My parents were hovering over the bed like helicopters, snapping away with their cameras. I tried to act surprised as I found my gift under my bed and said, “Cheese” for the paparazzi. Mamita gave me a secret nod of approval.

  I didn’t have to wait long for the other family members to arrive. They all flocked to the house with gifts, loaves of warm breakfast bread and goodies for everyone. Mamita sat at the head of the living room, watching over all her little chicks as they opened their gifts. She was practically glowing with delight. I still wasn’t sure who the Three Kings were, but I had definitely figured out who our family’s queen was.