A Flea Market Counterfeit in Alsace

The charming Alsacian village, with its winding cobblestone streets and timbered houses, was abuzz with a special kind of excitement. It was my mum’s 80th birthday, and her grandchildren, bless their creative hearts, had orchestrated a family reunion like no other. The centerpiece: a costume party, with the playful directive that each guest arrive in a unique, elaborate disguise. Who would have thought this innocent request would later weave such a tangled web of confusion?

 

The day began with a magnificent brunch, a feast of local delicacies lovingly prepared by the grandkids. Their culinary talents were truly astounding. After indulging in every tart and quiche imaginable, all the ladies, myself included, eagerly headed off to the famed Pentecost Sunday flea market. It was a sensory delight – over a hundred stands overflowing with everything from ancient curiosities and quirky handmade art to genuine antiquities.

 

About an hour into my leisurely stroll, my eyes landed on a stall draped with what appeared to be exquisite Kashmiri carpets. The colours were breathtaking, the patterns intricate and seemingly perfect. But something felt off. A recent documentary on Swiss TV flashed in my mind, from a prominent carpet exporter, passionately battling the proliferation of counterfeit carpets. He’d stressed, “It has become a menace in our industry that machine-made carpets are being sold as handmade in handicrafts showrooms.” He’d explained the stark difference: “One carpet typically takes a family six to eight months to complete, while the same size machine-produced carpet can be made in mere minutes. Our Kashmiri carpets are not only products but represent a legacy of tradition and mastery of craftsmanship.” Recognizing the growing crisis, the Handicrafts and Handloom Department had even begun reinforcing regulations through the Tourist Trade and Quality Control Acts to crack down on sellers of fake carpets.

 

These carpets before me, while stunning, seemed too perfect, too readily available for their supposed craftsmanship. My instincts screamed "fake." I feigned intense interest, admiring the weaves, asking questions, all while subtly noting the seller's demeanor. "They are truly magnificent," I sighed, "but I'm afraid I don't have enough cash on me today." The seller, a man with overly eager eyes, quickly offered, "No problem, madam! I can meet you here on Monday, even though it's a public holiday. I'll bring the card machine." I took his flyer, a small, almost imperceptible thrill running through me. I wondered if he was the very type of seller the documentary had warned about.

 

Back at the house, the afternoon flew by in a blur of costume preparations and excited chatter. When Walter finally returned from his own errands, I pulled him aside, recounting my flea market encounter and showing him the suspicious flyer. "Something's not right, Walter," I explained, detailing my observations and the memory of the TV documentary. To my non-surprise, he immediately supported my decision: "Call the police, Claudia. This needs to be looked into."

 

As dusk settled, casting long shadows across the village, the birthday party began in earnest. The hall was a riot of color and character. Agent Miller from LAPD, impeccably suited, mingled with a menacing Columbian Mafia Boss. Mary Poppins floated gracefully near James Bond, who looked as suave as ever. Cleopatra, adorned in gold, chatted with a charming Cowboy. Adam and Eve, giggling behind strategically placed leaves, dodged a trench-coated Detective. Lando Norris debated racing lines with Luigi from Mario Kart, while a truly cute single lady captivated everyone with her smile.

 

The doorbell rang. Given the sheer number of guests, no one thought much of it. My mum, resplendent in her Mary Poppins costume, complete with umbrella, opened the door, with James Bond, my dad, right behind her, Martini “shaken not stirred” of course, in hand.

 

Two uniformed police officers stood on the doorstep, looking utterly bewildered. "Good evening," one began, clearly trying to maintain composure. "We're looking for a Claudia, regarding a report about counterfeit goods."

My mum, still in character, tilted her head. "Oh, Claudia? You mean Cleopatra?" She turned, beaming into the crowded hall. "Cleopatra! Your public awaits! And bring the Cowboy, dear, I believe he was with you at the market!"

The officers exchanged a look, clearly questioning if they'd stumbled into a surreal dream. I, as Cleopatra, with my partner the Cowboy by my side, navigated through the throng of costumed revelers towards the door.

"Good evening, officers," I said, trying to sound as normal as possible while wearing a golden headpiece. "I'm Claudia. This is my partner Walter - the Cowboy."

 

The lead officer, a woman with a remarkably straight face, managed a slight nod. "Right. So, Ms. Claudia... you reported a potential case of counterfeit Kashmiri carpets?"

 

We stepped outside, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warm, chaotic energy within. Standing under the soft glow of the streetlights, amidst the distant sounds of laughter and music, I, Cleopatra, along with the Cowboy, explained the entire story to the two officers. We detailed the flea market, the suspicious carpets, the seller's offer for Monday, and my insights from the TV documentary. The officers listened, their initial confusion slowly giving way to professional interest. They asked about the flyer, the seller's description, and the exact location of the stall.

"So, your plan is to meet this individual on Monday, dressed as... Cleopatra?" the male officer finally asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

"No, no, of course not!" I laughed. "But we have his contact details and the location. We can point him out."

We discussed the strategy for tomorrow – a public holiday, making it an ideal time for the seller to operate without much scrutiny. The police would set up surveillance. It was a strange case, for sure, but my detailed story and Walter's confirmation made them believe us.As they left, promising to be in touch, I looked at the Cowboy.

 

"Who knew Mum's 80th birthday would involve a real-life crime investigation?" He just grinned, adjusting his hat. The party continued inside, oblivious to the small, serious discussion that had just taken place, setting the stage for a very interesting Monday in a cute little Alsace Village.

 

The story "A Flea Market Counterfeit in Alsace" is now history,

let's wait for the next "short criminal tale" to unfold,

where will Claudia and Walter take us next...