Murder on the Friendship Express!

Chapters

All Aboard! Next Stop... MURDER!
Slate, in the Dining Car, With the Threats!
Whistle Stop, in the Bedroom, With the Stopwatch
Ol’ Bitty, on the Streets, with Lots of Baggage
Tiny Tinsel, On the Road, With the Warpaint
Hot Shot and Ignis, in the Kitchen, With the Love Potion
Quiet Quill, Lost in Thought, with the Pen
End of the Line
It could have happened LIKE THIS!
Or it could have happened LIKE THIS!
BUT IT REALLY HAPPENED LIKE THIS!

All Aboard! Next Stop... MURDER!

Big, sloppy tears dribbled down Fluttershy’s face. “P-please b-be careful while you visit your family at the rock farm,” she stammered out between sobs. Gummy peered over her bubblegum mane and blinked wetly.

“Awww, I can’t leave ‘til you’re smiling,” Pinkie said with a frown.

Twilight’s eyes darted from the open doors of the train to the mess scattered around her hooves and the open suitcases in front of her. “Pinkie, I don’t know if we have time to—”

“All aboard!” an earth pony stallion called out over the train platform from the train’s threshold. His beige-colored coat and short, chocolate-colored mane appeared well-groomed. He stuffed a hoof into his vest pocket, then pulled out a brass chain and the attached pocket watch. He snapped it open and checked the time. When nopony responded, he slammed a hoof down and shouted again, “ALL ABOARD!”

The sound of the train whistle blasted over the crisp morning air. Several other ponies scrambled to get on or off the train. Pinkie re-packed her bags with a fervor that bordered on manic. Ponies debarked and swarmed around her, while her friends stood around, sweating, furtively glancing at the Ponyville town clock.

“Twilight, do you still have the checklist?” Pinkie asked.

“Yes, it’s right—” Twilight said as she puffed out her chest and patted her saddlebag. “Um…”

“Here!” Pinkie said as she reached into Fluttershy’s mane and produced a checklist that unrolled so far it flopped down the platform and out of sight over the horizon. Rainbow Dash’s mouth fell open. She flapped a little higher into the air and squinted at the horizon, trying to see the end of the scroll, but to no avail.

A stallion with tan fur and a vest darted past Pinkie and her friends in the wrong direction. “I need to use the little colts’ room. I’ll be on the train in just a minute!” he said to the stallion trotting right behind him.

The other stallion, a grey, muscular specimen, shook his head and replied, “No way— I’m going with you.”

“Th-that isn't necessary,” said the tan stallion.

The grey one shook his head again and replied without blinking, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.” His companion sighed, and they both trotted into the stallions’ restroom.

“Lead pipe, revolver, knife, candlestick, and rope,” Pinkie said, as she packed each item into her suitcase. Fluttershy had stopped sniffling and watched in awe as Pinkie stuffed so many things into her suitcase that it shouldn't have fit in the train, much less a mid-sized travel carry-on with balloon stickers slapped on the outside.

“Check,” Twilight replied as she ticked off several more items on the absurd scroll.

Another pair of ponies shuffled past the friends towards the platform. “Are you sure that’s everything, ma’am?” a young, pimply-faced, white stallion grunted to an ancient mare. He trundled behind her, pulling a cart stuffed to overflowing with odds and ends.

The old, periwinkle earth mare nodded and smiled warmly as she replied, “Thank you so much for helping an old nag like me.” He unloaded the cart into a growing pile of things next to the old mare. The pile seemed to contain everything including the kitchen sink, plus a cuckoo-clock, a full-length mirror, an old armoire, a faded couch, a hatrack, a bed frame, and more.

The young stallion wiped his brow with a grin. “That’s the last of it!” She nodded, gave him a bit, and waved as he trotted off.

“Are you sure you need seven hundred and forty-six sporks?” Twilight asked.

“No time, Twilight!” Pinkie replied.

A short distance away, a grey earth pony mare sat quietly on one of the station’s benches. She wrote in an open notebook. She had her nose buried in it, and her quill quickly scratched away. The little mint-colored unicorn next to her was trying, and failing, to get her attention. The unicorn poked her several times with a hoof and almost shouted, “Hey. Hey. HEY! I’m talkin’ to you! The train’s here!” She ground her teeth and hopped off of the bench. Once she stood on the platform, everypony could see just how short she was. The tip of her stubby horn wouldn't even reach Pinkie’s chin, but her voice was a little low to be a filly’s. She grumbled and lifted her luggage in her magic. It was only two suitcases, but each one was large enough to contain her entire body. She stomped in between the group of friends and nearly got packed into Pinkie’s suitcase by mistake.

“Huh? Mint-colored midget isn't on the list! Where’s my banjo?” Pinkie said, as she furiously slammed filled balloons into her suitcase. The small unicorn gave Pinkie the stink eye, but said nothing as she trotted into the train.

“Got it!” Twilight replied, holding the instrument aloft in her magic. Before she knew what happened, Pinkie swiped it and packed it. Twilight blinked in surprise, then ticked off another box. “Check.”

Another couple of ponies hopped off of a bench and strolled around the group of friends. They practically leaned on each other while tittering. “I love you, hot stuff,” the earth mare said to the pegasus stallion. They both had brick-red coats, but her mane was forest-green with a lustrous sheen, while his was a light cream. She cooed to him, whispering something in his ear that made both of them flush. He pulled her closer with his wing before whispering something back. Nopony could make out what they said, but it made the stallion wear a stupid grin. She smiled, and with droopy eyelids, nuzzled into his neck.

“Plaid deerstalker cap, smoking pipe, moustache, and magnifying glass,” Pinkie said as she packed each item.

Rarity leaned closer to Applejack and whispered, “How did she get that entire grand piano and her party cannon into that little travel bag? I glanced at that short unicorn, the one wearing the nice make-up, and when I turned back, they were gone!

Applejack’s mouth hung open as she whispered, “Don’t look now, but she just packed a dozen salted and smoked fish.”

“What?!” Rarity whispered harshly, as her head whipped back to watch Pinkie continue packing items.

“ALL ABOARD!” the stallion with the watch shouted again.

Pinkie tossed the last items into her suitcase, zipped it up, and darted to the train. “I’ll be back in about a week!”

“What about your tuba, your rock collection, and the—” Twilight shouted as Pinkie galloped away.

“Don’t worry about the tuba! Throw me the rock collection!” Pinkie shouted back.

Twilight gasped and shouted, “WHAT?! I don’t want to damage them!”

“Throw ‘em, Twilight! They’re rocks!” Pinkie cried over the platform.

Twilight went cross-eyed for a moment. “Oh yeah…” she mumbled, as she used her magic to launch enough rocks at Pinkie that it should have qualified as an artillery strike. Pinkie unzipped her travel luggage, caught the rocks, zipped it back up, and didn't even break her stride.

“Just rub Gummy’s belly for smiles! And don’t forget to feed him!” Pinkie called over her shoulder.

“I won’t!” Fluttershy called back. She twisted her head to look at Gummy, still on her back. “Don’t worry, Gummy. I’ll take good care of you,” she sniffed. She gently picked him up with a wing and rubbed his belly with a forehoof. He grinned and drooled, making Fluttershy crack a weak smile. “Awww, he’s a sweetie. I guess he’s not too sad; Pinkie said he tends to bite things when he’s—” Just then, Gummy jumped up and latched his fangless mouth onto Fluttershy’s face. “mmmMMMMhhhnnn!!!” she squealed.

While Twilight tried to pry Gummy off of Fluttershy, Applejack and Dash rolled on the tile platform, laughing. Rarity waved to Pinkie, who was leaning out of the window as the train pulled away from the station. “Have fun, Pinkie! Say hello to your family for me!” Rarity hollered over the sounds of the train.

“I will, and I won’t forget to write!” Pinkie shouted back.

Two stallions thundered past the five mares still standing on the platform. Rarity watched as the large, grey stallion followed the other as they chased the train. “Wait up!” the tan stallion yelled.

They hopped aboard the train just as it started to really pick up speed. The conductor gave them a hard glare as he slammed the door closed behind them. The train’s whistle blew a strong note before it chugged down the tracks and disappeared from sight.

“Oh no, I think she forgot something,” Twilight said, picking up a small object off the tile floor in her magic.

“What did she forget?” Fluttershy asked, as she whipped her long, pink tail back and fourth. Once Twilight had pried Gummy free, he latched onto Fluttershy’s tail. With a loud rip, half of Fluttershy’s tail came off, with Gummy still attached. He landed on his back with the hair still in his mouth. He blinked one eye, then the other, with a wet sound. Fluttershy’s cheeks turned bright red as she sank on the spot, hiding her face behind her mane, the remains of her tail between her legs.

“Hair emergency!” Rarity shouted. “Prep for extension replacement, stat!”

~~~~~

The conductor glared at them. “When I say ‘all aboard,’ I mean right now, not in ten minutes! I like to keep to the schedule!” He pointed at the clock he bore on his flank, then stomped a hoof. He lifted the same hoof and held it up. “Well?”

“Well what?” the big, grey stallion rumbled. His mane was grey as well, but darker. His cutie mark almost blended with his coat; it looked like a chunk of rock.

“Tickets, please,” the conductor said, with his nose raised in the air. His mouth was a flat line as he stared down the muscular stallion.

“Our tickets are right here.” The tan stallion fumbled to pull out the two tickets from his vest pocket and hoofed them over, but not before accidentally popping out the monocle attached to a chain as well. His green vest shimmered, the silk thread light and airy. The four leaf clover on his flank matched his vest. He stuffed the monocle back into place.

The conductor took both tickets and read them. “Felix and Slate. That’s you and you?” he asked, pointing to the tan stallion, then his larger companion.

Felix replied, “Yep, that’s us. Right, Slate?” He turned to the grey stallion. Slate gave the conductor nothing more than a nod and a glare.

The conductor checked his pocket watch again, punched their tickets, then gave them back. “Please be in the dining car at six o’clock; I will be serving dinner at that time. You can leave your luggage here.” Felix and Slate looked around to see they were surrounded by bags and luggage of all shapes and sizes. “This way, please.” The conductor trotted away from them without looking in their direction. He opened the door to the car, took the single stride across the short walkway with the wind in his ears, then opened the door to the next train car.

“HIYA!” A pink face was inches away from his own. He stumbled back into Slate, who didn't budge. He might as well have been made of rock. The conductor blinked and shook his head before he trooped into the next car, sliding past the pink mare. Slate and Felix followed him.

They were inside a cramped hallway with several sleeping bunks set along each side. “Your assigned bunks are on the tickets.” He turned to the pink mare. “Hello to you as well. Ticket, please,” he said, as he held out a hoof.

She bounced in place without moving her head or breaking her grin. All he could see was her face, then her neck. When she came down after the fourth bounce, her ticket was in her mouth. It took three more bounces before he recovered enough to take the ticket. “Pinkamena Diane Pie?”

“Yepperooni! That’s me! What’s your name?”

He couldn't help but smile, she was so… bubbly. He particularly liked mares that asked him for his name, rather than customers that treated him like a servant. “My name is Whistle Stop. Can I take your bags for you?”

She kept bouncing, the luggage on her back bouncing with her. “Sure!” She dropped it at his hooves on the next bounce.

“I’ll just put this away—hnnggg!” He clamped his teeth around the handle and tried to lift it. It felt like it weighed a ton! “What’s in this thing? Horseshoes? Buckles? Cannons?”

She giggled and snorted, “Cannons? No, just the one.”

He smirked at her. “Right, well don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” After grunting and dragging her small piece of luggage into the next car, he returned to find the rest of the customers.

Shuffling down the aisle, he stopped in front of the short, mint-colored unicorn lounging on her bunk. Her dull purple mane and tail hid most of her. She turned when she felt the tap on her shoulder, revealing the metallic star-burst on her flank. He held out a hoof and opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. “Here’s my ticket,” she said. It floated into his hoof with a minty aura. Her smile matched the voice, high and sweet, and her short stature made Whistle Stop think of his own little filly.

“Thank you. Are you old enough to travel on your own… Tiny Tinsel?” He read the ticket, and just below the name was her age. His eyes went wide.

“Yes I am, you piece of manure. ” Her voice had lost all of its sugar, only to be replaced with hot sauce. She glared at him as he punched her ticket and hoofed it back to her. “And it’s Miss Tinsel to you.”

Whistle Stop squatted a bit to get himself eye level with her. It was uncomfortable, but he felt as if he should endure some discomfort to make up for his transgression. “Yes, Miss Tinsel! I’m so sorry, I didn't mean—”

“Whatever,” she cut him off. “I've got lots of product to move and not much time to do it. Are we late? Did those two chuckleheads slow us down?”

“No, Miss Tinsel. I give you my word, I’ll do my best to ensure we’re on schedule.” Whistle Stop checked his pocket watch again.

She nodded and said, “Good, see that you do.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hoof.

Whistle Stop sighed, glad to get away from her explosive glare. He moved on to the next customer, an old, periwinkle earth mare. Her mane was once glamorous, but the color had drained out of it, bleaching it. Her cutie mark was a sepia toned medical cross. Whistle Stop silently thanked Celestia they had a medical pony onboard, even if she looked like his grandmother. He held out his hoof and said, “Ticket, please.”

With a shaky hoof, she gave him her ticket. “Here you are, sonny.” Her voice was creaky, but warm.

He figured this mare was an elder, but just to be sure, he checked the name and age. “Thank you Mrs... Ol’ Bitty. If you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to call me. My name is Whistle Stop.”

She let out a dry chuckle. “Don’t worry about these old bones, I’ll be fine. And just call me Bitty.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bitty.” He punched her ticket and hoofed it back. His ears swiveled around; behind him, he heard the sounds of two ponies apparently engaged in a wrestling match. “One moment, Mrs. Bitty.”

He pivoted around and found the source of the noise. It was behind the privacy curtain in one of the bunks. He ripped the curtain open and looked inside. Two ponies, both brick-red in color, were entwined with each other. Her mane was a lustrous forest-green, and her cutie mark a leaf with a tiny flame on it. The mare had the stallion in quite the lip-lock. Whistle Stop blushed, but held out a hoof as his duties demanded and said, “Tickets, please.”

A sound like a toilet plunger being removed from a bowl issued from their lips as they came apart. The stallion brushed his cream-colored mane into something less messy, while spreading his wing to hide his special somepony. His cutie mark, a flame with a white circle and a slash through it, revealed itself as he turned. He looked up at Whistle Stop and glared. “Do you mind?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I must punch your ticket before we go any further.” He held out his hoof closer to the pair, invading the stallion’s personal space.

The pegasus batted his hoof away and said, “Alright, alright, you don’t have to get pushy. Here,” he said, as he snatched the tickets pinched between the windowsill and the closed blinds. He slapped them into Whistle’s hoof. “Hurry up, will ya? I've got… stuff to do.”

A hoof snaked around his neck from out of sight, as a soft voice said, “Stuff, huh? What kind of stuff?”

The stallion’s grin split his face. “Hot stuff…” he whispered back to her.

Whistle Stop rolled his eyes. He read the tickets quickly and punched them. “Based on the genders printed on these tickets, I assume you’re Mr. Hot Shot, and the mare with you is Miss Ignis. Correct?”

He patted the hoof around his neck. “That’s right, soon to be Mrs. Shot.” Hot Shot’s eyes closed, as the hoof around his neck started to trace a slow line from his neck down his chest.

Before that hoof reached the sheets covering Hot Shot’s waistline, Whistle Stop blushed again. “Thank-you-very-much!” he said, and slid the curtain closed before things got out of hoof. He heard a soft sigh, followed by giggling from the bunk. Turning back to the old mare, he whispered, “I’m sorry if they’re bothering you, ma’am. If you’d like, I can get you another bunk.”

Ol’ Bitty shook her head and smiled. “It’s no trouble, dearie. Why, I was just like them forty-three years ago when I met my husband. All he’d have to do was look at me and I’d get so—”

“THANK-YOU-MA’AM! If you need anything else, just ask!” Whistle Stop spoke loudly and trotted away quickly. The last thing he wanted was to associate that with Ol’ Bitty. Shuddering, he trotted to the back of the sleeping car and found, seated in the corner, another earth pony. Her dull grey coat was in sharp contrast to the frizzy, two-tone, red mane. While the two ponies in the bunk had more muted colors, her mane’s reds were talkative and loud. She seemed to be curled into the corner of the seat, trying to take up as little room as possible. He couldn't see her eyes; her mane covered her face when she looked down into that notebook resting on the table in front of her. The quill in her mouth hovered over the page, occasionally scratching a few words into it; it matched her cutie mark, an open book with a quill resting on top.

“...” She mumbled something inaudible and scribbled out several words with angry slashes of the quill.

“Ticket, please,” Whistle Stop said quietly. When he held out a hoof she shrank away like he was going to strike her. His eyes went wide and he put his hoof back on the floor. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just need to punch your ticket.” He spoke with placating tones, but she still quivered as the ticket was produced. It was stuck in her notebook like a bookmark, several pages back. She never looked up at him while he read the ticket. “Quiet Quill, right?” He looked at her, but she didn't respond. “You can just nod, that’s okay.” She did. He punched the ticket and set it on the seat next to her. “Dinner is at six o’clock, and if you’d like, you can sit in the back of the dining car. It’s a little quieter there. Just say the word, and the seat is yours.” He smiled warmly as he spoke, but since she didn't look up, it was lost on her. After several seconds without a response, his smile vanished, and he sighed. Whistle glanced away and was about to leave when he heard the rip of paper. A note pushed into his chest; he took it instinctively. Opening it, he read: Back seat, thanks. He smiled and said, “No problem, Miss Quill.”

~~~~~

The clock chimed for the sixth time as Pinkie bounced into the dining car, her hooves making her trademark pronk on each jump. The dining car sat all the way at the back of the train, behind the sleeping quarters. The seats had plenty of room to stretch one’s legs. Although they were hardwood, they were contoured for comfort. The carpet was a worn beige, just like the rest of the train. Gas lights flickered at regular intervals down the caboose; they automatically ignited about half an hour ago during sunset. Combined with the soft swaying of the train, it gave the entire car a warm, homey feel. Dark shadows whipped past the windows, but they seemed far removed from the ponies here. Polished cherrywood tables set between the seats added to the atmosphere. There were enough place settings for at least two dozen ponies, but less than half were occupied at the moment. Pinkie pronked once more and stopped at the first table. Felix and Slate sat side by side, with Slate closest to the aisle. “Oooooohhh—can I try that?” she asked, pointing to the gold chain hanging out of Felix’s vest pocket.

“Skedaddle, ya freak!” Slate growled, as he grabbed Pinkie’s hoof.

Pinkie gasped, “You want to dance with me? OKAY! How does the skedaddle go? Is it like this?” Without straining, she whirled into a funky two-step, dragging the sputtering Slate along with her. Halfway down the car, Slate recovered and jerked away from her.

“Leave me alone, you crazy pinko!” He stumbled back to Felix, who grinned like an idiot.

“I think she likes you,” Felix whispered to Slate over the table.

He deadpanned at Felix, then sighed, “What makes you think that?”

Felix snickered again and said, “‘Cause she’s right behind you!”

Indeed, Pinkie reappeared behind Slate, who spun his head around to look at the smiling pink mare. “I’m not leaving ‘til you’re happy,” she chirped.

Slate narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled, “I’ll be happy if you beat it, freak! Scram!”

“You promise?” she asked, with a massive grin. He nodded. “Oki-doki-loki,” she said, as Pinkie pronked away. Slate couldn't help but smile, a wolfish grin that made Felix avert his eyes when Slate looked at him.

Ignis and Hot Shot were seated near the front of the car, next to each other. Honestly, they weren't even taking up two seats, since she sat in his lap. Pinkie bounced past them as Ignis stuck her muzzle in Hot Shot’s ear and said or did something to make his smile grow exponentially. He hugged her tight, and she seemed to melt into him. As Pinkie passed by them, Ignis sighed and rolled her eyes. They stopped and lingered on Felix, while she licked her lips. Hot Shot was still buried in her chest, softly kissing her. Pinkie stopped; her ears swiveled backwards when she heard Hot Shot growl, “Who are you looking at?”

“You, of course!” Ignis replied with a lilting voice.

“No you aren't! You’re looking at that fancy stallion over there!” Pinkie turned to watch as Hot Shot glared at Felix. “I’m gonna—” Ignis grabbed his head with both hooves and forced him to look at her.

She kissed him right on the lips, instantly blowing out his anger, like snuffing a candle. “Don’t worry about him, Hots.”

“I don’t want you staring at him!” Hot Shot stood, pulling Ignis with him. He corralled her into the next car, watching Felix like a hawk the entire time. When Ignis passed by, Felix glanced at her and twiddled his eyebrows. Ignis smirked at him, while Hot Shot stared daggers at him.

Pinkie shrugged and bounced further down the car. She pronked by Tiny next, who glowered at her plate and the clock on the wall with equal fury. Pinkie considered performing a little prank on Tiny, involving a rubber chicken, cherry-mint bubblegum, and four toothpicks, which never failed to get a laugh out of ponies, although not always the victims of said prank. Tiny Tinsel gave Pinkie a look that froze her in place. “Uh, maybe later,” Pinkie said, as she put the items away.

“When is he going to get here? I’m hungry,” Tiny complained loudly.

Felix laughed and called back to her, “Chill out, short stuff. Try to enjoy the ride!”

She turned her head in short ticks before her eyes found him. If looks could kill, Felix would be carbonized. “What. Did. You. Call. Me?” she shot at him with deadly calm, biting off each word.

Felix seemed impervious to murder via facial expression. “I said, chill out, Minty. Enjoy the ride.”

Her eye twitched, and Pinkie could barely hear her mumble under her breath, “I will kill you, slowly.” She stood and trotted up to Felix. He was still taller than her, even seated. “Say that again, I dare you!” Slate didn't move much, but his body seemed to coil like a spring.

Felix sipped his coffee, seemingly oblivious to the mint-colored explosive right in front of him. He leaned forward and sighed, “Look I’m just making— oops.” His coffee sloshed in the cup, as he leaned forward and splattered some into Tiny’s face. She closed her eyes as coffee dribbled down her neck. “Eh-heh, sorry about that,” Felix said.

“AHHHH,” she howled in frustration. She stomped into the next car before Felix could say anything more. He shrugged at Slate, who relaxed in his seat.

Pinkie giggled and pronked further down the car. She approached the old mare, who was seated in the middle of the car. Her tiny frame didn't seem large enough to occupy the chair, much less the entire table, by herself. She snored softly, her head on her chest, a small bubble on her nostril growing and shrinking in time with her breathing. Pinkie sat herself down across from Bitty and chirped, “Heya, are you hungry?”

Bitty snorted, the bubble popped, and she blinked a bleary set of watery eyes as she looked at Pinkie. “Huh? Oh, is it dinner time already? I must have dozed off.” She sighed, looking at her reflection on the empty plate. “This reminds me of my family. We used to eat dinner together every night in our dining room. It had beige walls and hardwood chairs that felt like these.”

Pinkie laughed and said, “Well, let’s make it mini-family night! Hey, nice pony! Yeah, you, the one with the notebook! Get over here and have dinner with us! Please? I won’t steal your dessert… probably!” Pinkie called out to Quiet Quill, who sat in the far corner of the dining car, with a half dozen tables in between the two of them. Quill shrank in her seat, hiding her head behind her forehooves. Pinkie practically vibrated in her seat with a huge smile on her face, but after a moment when it was obvious Quill wasn't going to join them, she said, “Oh c'mon, I won’t bite. You. Just your dessert. Okay-okay-okay, you drive a hard bargain; I’ll trade for your dessert. How about—”

Ol’ Bitty stood and said, “Excuse me, I need to use the little fillies’ room.” She shuffled into the next car, leaving her cane on her seat.

At that moment, the dining car door opened and Whistle Stop trotted inside. He pulled a cart laden with silver chargers, each covered with a matching dome. There was one for each customer. Felix licked his lips as Whistle Stop placed the first in front of him and Slate. He removed the domes with a flourish before trotting to the next table. Honey oats, an apple, asparagus, tomato soup with alfalfa, a small chocolate molten cake for dessert, and water to drink. It wasn't exactly a five-star meal, but any hungry pony would be more than willing to eat it.

Felix chatted with Slate, who only grunted at him, while they ate dinner. Since they were served first, it took a minute before Whistle Stop served Pinkie. The car door opened and Bitty shuffled back to her seat, across from Pinkie. Pinkie clapped her hooves together like a filly when Whistle Stop removed the dome to her meal. “CHOCOLATE!” she cried, and ate her dessert first, in one bite, without the use of utensils.

“Heh heh, you remind me of my granddaughter,” Bitty chuckled over her steaming plate. She took a spoonful of soup and blew on it for a moment before sipping it down. “Ahh, you do a fine job, Mr. Stop,” she called out to him. Whistle Stop stared, transfixed, watching Pinkie devour her food. It was like watching a boa constrictor eat an egg. His face held a mixture of awe and horror.

The car door opened again; Ignis and Hot Shot returned to their seats. Ignis looked quite pleased with herself, while Hot Shot looked like he had just taken a brisk jog alongside the speeding train. Both held silly grins. They sat, and Hot Shot exclaimed, “I’m as hungry as a racehorse!” He attacked his food with vigor. Ignis scowled when she looked at her plate. “What?” Hot Shot asked, when he noticed her face.

“I didn't get the salad I wanted,” she replied quietly to him. She put a hoof on his shoulder when he moved to stand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Shaking his head, Whistle Stop turned to the last table at the back of the dining car. Trotting to the back, he set the plate before Quiet Quill and removed the dome. He smiled and waited for a response, when the train car door opened again. Whistle Stop turned to see who would enter the car, when he heard a crunch. He whipped his head around to see a bite eaten out of Quill’s apple. Yet, Quill still hadn't appeared to move. He smiled again, crow’s feet appearing under his eyes. Light hooffalls made him turn to see Tiny trotting into her seat, her coat looking freshly cleaned. She sat and started eating in silence. Whistle sighed; dinner was served, and everything was running smoothly, on time. In another four hours, he would kill the lights and get some well-deserved rest.

Clack!

The entire car was engulfed in darkness, as every light in the car winked out. Pinkie heard the shuffling of hooves.

“Hey, who turned out the lights?”
“Stop touching my leg!”
“Where’s the light switch?”
“Everypony freeze!”
“Who’s there?”
“I can’t see a thing, somepony turn on the light!”
“Oh my!”

Thunk! STOMP-Stomp-stomp

“Ooofff!”
“What was that?”
“Whose leg is this?!”
“Pffft, get your wing out of my face!”
“I’d turn on the lights if I knew where the TARTARUS-DAMNED SWITCH IS!”
“I think I found it! I’ll turn it on now!”
“Ow, no that’s my nose.”
“Oops, sorry.”
“Stop moving around! You’re all making it worse!”

CRASH-Splash-Drip-drip-drip

“AHHH!”
“Is everypony alright?!”
“Did somepony spill water?”
“Careful, there might be water on the floor.”
“Did someone slip?”
Nom-nom-nom!
“Who’s eating at a time like this?”
“Get your hooves off of me!”
“I said, STOP!”
“Oh, for Celestia’s sake!”

Clack!

The lights flickered on. Everypony looked around, blinking as their pupils shrank in the glow of the light. The dining car was an impressive mess. Quiet Quill had sank under the table, clutching her notebook. Her dinner had turned into a sloppy mess; the water glass had been knocked over and dripped onto the floor. Her dessert was missing as well; in its place, somepony had placed a salted and smoked fish. Whistle Stop stood over her, his hoof on the light switch at the back of the car. Ol’ Bitty was curled into her seat, clutching her cane, as if it would shield her. Pinkie sat across from her, chocolate all over her face and hooves. Tiny Tinsel stood on the table next to her dinner, her wide eyes darting everywhere; for once, she had a good view of the room. Ignis was curled up in Hot Shot’s forehooves, hugging him around the neck. He looked around him, his eyes and ears darting every which way. Slate stood at the front of the car, guarding the exit, stony-faced.

Felix was gone.

In his place was a red stain all over his seat and plate, dripping onto the floor, seeping into the carpet. It drew everypony’s eye, making heartbeats rise in panic.

Slate, in the Dining Car, With the Threats!

“Is that… blood?” Hot Shot looked at the stain over Ignis’ shoulder. She averted her eyes.

“Oh, oh goddess… we have to get out of here!” Tiny exclaimed.

“Nopony is going anywhere!” Slate growled; his voice sounded like gravel being dragged across bedrock.

“There could be a killer on this train, and you want us to stay here?” Bitty asked, panic rising in her voice. She clutched her cane like a shield.

Slate sighed and replied, “I’m not leaving until I get the money. It’s my job.”

Tiny perked her ears up. “What money?” she asked, but Slate ignored her.

Whistle Stop trotted forward on shaky hooves. “I have to agree with Bitty. We need to let the police handle this.”

Slate glared at him. “So long as the train is movin’ quick, nopony ‘cept Hot Shot can leave. I think you’d be easy enough to track down,” he said, giving Hot Shot a level stare. “And if you leave, I’m gonna think you done it, and I’m going to take yer little filly friend with me when I track you down. Capisce, pegasus?”

Hot Shot gasped. “You wouldn't dare!”

Slate smirked at Hot Shot. “It would be in youses best interest to stick around. It would be in everypony’s best interests to stick together. That way we can find Felix, and I can keep an eye on ya. And when I find out what’s happened… when I figure out who took the dough? We can have a nice, little chat…” Slate finished by popping his neck.

Quiet Quill quivered under the table. Pinkie Pie spat chocolate as she chirped, “Well, you can’t keep me here! But you don’t need to; I didn't do it!”

“Oh really? You don’t think I can keep you here?” He took a menacing step forward.

Pinkie’s smile split her face. “Nope! If somepony is about to break a Pinkie promise, I’ll have to leave to fix it, but don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it!”

Slate looked at her incredulously. “What? What are you talking about? You can’t jump off a speeding train! You’d get splattered!”

Pinkie laughed, “Oh no, once you climb over the fourth wall, it’s really easy to get anywhere you need to go! But I promise I’ll come back if I have to leave. Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” She did some odd motions, splattering chocolate from her hoof. “Besides, I didn't do it! I was stealing chocolate when the lights went out.”

Slate blinked and replied, “Prove it.”

Whistle Stop chuckled, “Just look at the carpet I have to clean…” The carpet in question showed a clear path of chocolate hoofprints from Pinkie’s seat, to Quill’s seat, and back to Pinkie’s seat. They didn't go anywhere else.

Slate snorted, looked at the group, and said, “Okay, the crazy pinko is innocent. Anypony else?”

Everypony looked at each other, but nopony spoke. Pinkie slipped on her plaid deerstalker cap and fake mustache, then put a pipe into her mouth. She blew on the pipe to get her detective juices flowing. Bubbles rose into the air as she said, “Don’t worry, I’m on the case!”

Slate groaned, “We’re doomed.” He shook his head, sighed, and looked at the ‘detective.’ “Well, what do we do first, Miss Gumshoe?”

“My name is Pinkamena Diane Pie, and first, I need to study the scene to collect clues. You can’t accuse a pony without proof. My friend Twilight taught me that.”

Everypony glanced at her. Slate’s brow rose and he said, “That actually sounded perfectly sane. Go ahead.” Pinkie Pie dropped her nose to the floor. With her flank in the air and her fluffy tail swishing back and forth, she sniffed around the train car like a bloodhound. Slate shook his head and mumbled, “Never mind, yer nuts.”

Pinkie sniffed Quill, who cowered into an even smaller ball. Pinkie went up and down the car, stopping at Felix’s seat. His dinner was half-eaten, excluding his dessert. His water glass was full, but his cup of coffee only had a few sips left. His napkin was crumpled and damp. The red liquid had splashed onto the plate, the table, and still dripped onto the floor. It had congealed already. Pinkie sniffed the food, and without warning, popped the rest of his desert into her mouth. She smiled and said, “Still chocolatey!”

Slate growled, “Get on with it!”

Pinkie sniffed the coffee next, and sipped it. “Hmmm…”

Tiny Tinsel gasped, “A clue? Has it been poisoned?”

Pinkie set the coffee down and sniffed the red liquid on the table and carpet. She put the tip of her hoof in the puddle and put it to her tongue. “Hmmm…” She puffed a bubble on her pipe.

Whistle Stop gulped and stammered, “I-is it ketchup?”

Pinkie looked at him, she stopped smiling, and her hair went flat for a moment. “No.” Whistle Stop’s ears fell to the sides of his head. “Are there any other ponies on this train?” Pinkie asked. Slate perked up and looked at Whistle Stop.

“Yes, just the engineer, but he’s all the way on the other side of the train. And if he had left his post, the train would have slowed down. We haven’t slowed down since we left the station, so I know he’s doing his job,” Whistle replied. Pinkie puffed on her pipe again.

“Just one engineer?” Pinkie asked.

Whistle nodded. “Yeah, he’s supposed to take a double shift and get relieved at the first stop tomorrow morning.”

“Hmmm,” Pinkie said, as she scratched her chin with a hoof.

“Well?” Slate grumbled at her. “Where’s the bearer bond?”

Pinkie turned to him and fired off questions. “Okay, first of all, I need to know about this bearer bond. Who’s Felix? Who are you? Why does he have a bearer bond? How much is it for? Where is my missing rock? And can I have your dessert?” She finished by pointing at Slate’s uneaten chocolate molten cake.

Slate groaned, closed his eyes, and sighed. He opened them and focused on Pinkie. “I guess there’s no hiding it. Felix is a wealthy real estate broker, a real stand-up type of pony. He’s worked for some major players, like Cumulus Construction and Sound Stables. I’m a bodyguard; I work for Moonlight Mortar, and I've been his bodyguard since we contracted his services. We were headed to Connecticolt to see if we could purchase a chunk of land around the outskirts of town. As a good faith deposit, Felix had a bearer bond on him worth 1,000,000 bits.”

Everypony gasped. “1,000,000 bits! That’s more than I get paid in ten years!” Whistle exclaimed.

Slate glared at him and said, “And an excellent reason for you to steal it. Are you sure he didn't do it?” Slate asked, as he turned back to Pinkie.

She nodded and replied, “Well, that gives some ponies motive.”

Ignis rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Slate glared at her, causing Hot Shot to stand between them with his wings flared. Slate shot back, “Something the thief would say to throw us off her scent!”

Pinkie stroked her mustache and said, “Let’s try the next car; I still need more clues.”

Slate nodded. “Okay, I’ll lead, you bring up the rear. I’ll make sure nopony touches anything before you have a chance to look at it.” He slid the train car door open and trotted out.

Pinkie was pushing Quill with her head. “C’mon, we gotta stay together!” Quill was shaking as she slid across the carpet. “It’s okay, Miss may-or-may-not-be-a-murderer! I’m on the case!”

Whistle Stop, in the Bedroom, With the Stopwatch

Pinkie, still pushing Quiet Quill with her head, entered the sleeping car and slid the door closed. “‘Scuse me!” she said to Quill, trying to get past her. Quill took a bounding leap and landed on an empty top bunk. She pulled the covers around her, shaking.

Peeking out from under the covers, Quill saw Slate at eye level with her. He gave her a devilish grin before he cleared his throat. “Ah-hem… So what now, dollface?” he asked Pinkie. Quiet Quill didn't move, but her expression looked like she was facing a certain, painful death.

“First,” Pinkie said, as she approached Tiny Tinsel, “I gotta know… Do you have any feldspar?”

Tiny’s brows arched as she looked up at Pinkie and inquired, “Uh, what’s feldspar?”

“GET ON WITH IT!” Slate barked, causing everypony except Pinkie to cower. Quiet Quill hid under the covers.

“Oh, fine…” Pinkie sighed, as she pulled back the curtain on a bunk. “Who’s bunk is this?”

“That would be our bunk,” Hot Shot answered, “and I’d prefer it if you’d leave our stuff alone.”

“Why? Afraid we’ll find evidence?” Slate replied, with a smug smile on his face.

“What? No, I just don’t want—”

“You really should make your bed at some point. I just love getting into a nice bed after a day of partying when the sheets are fresh and clean, don’t you think?” Pinkie had her head in the bunk’s space, searching. “Which one of you is reading ‘Fifty Manes of Grey?’ It looks kinda worn.” A book spilled out of the bunk over Pinkie’s shoulder. Pinkie backed up a step and lifted the mattress. “I thought I saw a lump under here. Hey, champagne! Nice vintage too, this year, very classy.” The bottle flew out over Pinkie’s other shoulder with a casual flick of her hoof. Hot Shot dove and caught it before it shattered on the floor. The label indicated the common glass bottle had roughly the same value as the liquid inside. “Chocolate wrapper, chocolate wrapper, chocolate wrapper, chocolate wrapper… Hey, don’t you have any wrappers with candy still in them?” Pinkie sighed, pulled her head out of the bunk, then blew more bubbles on her pipe. “Hmmm…”

“Um, did you find anything, dearie?” Ol’ Bitty asked.

Pinkie bounced past her and pulled back the curtain on another bunk. “Hey, now this is a snazzy bed, nice and clean! Let’s see here, sleeping pills on the windowsill…” Pinkie didn't throw them over her shoulder, but everypony could hear the contents of the bottle being rattled. “An inkwell, and a quill, too. Ink color is tar number four. Ohhhh, that’s Twilight’s favorite! It’s the right shade of black, not too black, but just black enough.” Whistle Stop and Slate facehoofed. “Is this a diary on the pillow, Miss Quill? Can I read it?” Pinkie withdrew her head; in her mouth she held a small book, locked with a strap fitted with a tiny padlock. Quill hopped down and darted in front of Pinkie, her lower lip quivering. She just stood there, not reaching for the diary, but not allowing Pinkie to pass, either.

“Open it,” Slate ordered.

“Nahh, it’s okay. I don’t have to pry to solve this easy case. Not like she’d be crazy enough to write, ‘I’m going to kill Felix like an insane axe murderer in the dining car tonight!’”

Slate facehoofed again. “Don’t you think you should—” He looked up and blinked, looking for Pinkie Pie.

Pinkie was already looking into another bunk. “Let’s see, make-up, make-up, make-up, wow, Rarity would love this stuff.” Pinkie withdrew her head. Everypony except Tiny snickered at her garish face. Rainbow eye shadow, hair curlers, rhinestone clip-on earrings, blue rouge, and black lipstick made for a rather… striking appearance.

Tiny slapped her once, and all of the make-up came off. “Leave my samples alone! Those are for paying customers only!”

Pinkie shrugged and stuck her head back into the bunk. Tiny gasped, but before she could react, Pinkie said, “Fashion magazine and a letter. Who’s this from?” Pinkie came out again, this time with a folded piece of paper in her mouth.

Tiny snatched the letter away with her magic. “That’s private! Leave me alone!” she growled.

Pinkie’s hind right leg wobbled, her right ear twitched, and she smacked her lips. “Hmmm… Oh, is that all?” Pinkie asked.

“All of what?” Slate looked at Pinkie, the detective, for an answer.

Pinkie pronked up and down, then replied, “Elementary, my dear Slate. I have the ability to foresee the future! And I read the letter.”

Tiny sputtered, “W-what? When?”

Pinkie smacked her lips again. “When I tasted it, silly! I learned to read letters by taste a long time ago.”

“...What…” Ignis said what was on everypony’s mind.

“Yeah, and Tiny’s boss is angry ‘cause she’s not making sales! But my Pinkie sense tells me, after tonight, she won’t have to worry too much about money.”

Ol’ Bitty gasped, “You mean, she has the bearer bond?”

“Or she’s going to be digging a hole on the side of the tracks!” Slate snarled.

“I did NOT kill Felix, and I did NOT steal his bearer bond! I didn't even know it existed before you told me about it twenty minutes ago!” Tiny looked around the room at all the eyeballs on her.

“Is this bed empty?” Pinkie asked, her head in another bunk. Everypony turned to her.

Slate answered, “No, that’s Felix’s bed. Mine is just above it. We didn't unpack yet, our luggage is still in the next car.”

“Oh, okay.” Pinkie bounced to the next bed and tore the curtain back. “Hmmm… interesting. Is this yours, Bitty?” Pinkie showed off a framed picture. It was sepia-toned and showed a happy, smiling, earth pony couple in front of a house under construction.

Ol’ Bitty smiled. “Yes, that’s me. Please be careful, that picture is fifty-two years old.”

Pinkie giggled, “I know, I can see the apple orchards in the background, and the trees are so small!” She disappeared back into the bunk. “What other cool stuff ya got in here? Let’s see, bifocals, another cane, and another picture.” She popped back out with a much newer photo; this one showed several foals all around Bitty, standing in Sundial’s Square.

“Oh, yes, that was taken in Manehatten a year ago. Those are my grandfoals.” Her wrinkled face split into a smile.

Pinkie tossed it back into the bunk and bounced to the next bunk… Pinkie giggled, “He-he-he.” “Silly me,” she snorted, as she tried to keep various objects from spilling out onto the floor. “This is MY bed! Okay, next!” She glanced left, then right. Her smile turned into a frown. “Hey, Whistle Stop, where do you sleep?

Whistled Stop flushed when everypony suddenly focused on him. “Uh, in the employees’ car.”

Slate took a step towards him, but Pinkie stopped him with the words, “Oki-doki-loki!”

Slate turned to Pinkie like he’d been slapped. “Wait, you’re just going to let him off the hook?”

Pinkie shrugged and adjusted her deerstalker hat. “No, but there’s not much we can do to collect physical evidence for Whistle here until we get to the employees’ car. I’ll just have to settle for an interview.”

She shot to Whistle Stop, who found himself seated and tied to a chair. A harsh light was shining in his face from the lamp Pinkie pointed at him. She sat on the other side of the table and glared at him.

“Where did the chairs come from?”
“Wow, how’d she get the table in here?”
“How’d she tie him up so fast?”
“Where’s the power source for that lamp? That thing’s like the sun!”

Pinkie, without so much as glancing away, said, “Sofas and Quills, portable hole, my mad-secret ninja skills, and my brain.” Tiny blinked against the light and noticed the lamp was plugged into Pinkie’s ear. “Tell me, Whistle Stop… Do you have any feldspar?”

“I didn't do it, I swear! Wait… isn't feldspar some kinda rock?” Whistle Stop blinked and put his hoof up to block the bright light.

“Where were you between the hours of four and six pm today?” Pinkie leaned in closer, her eyes unblinking as they glared at Whistle Stop. Her face suddenly lit up with a childlike smile. “Tell-me-tell-me-tell-me!”

“Uh, I got all the luggage on board, and we left the station four minutes late, at 4:04pm. Felix and Slate were the last ones on board. I punched everypony’s tickets, then went to the employees’ car at 4:23pm. I didn't see anypony on the way.”

“Where’s the employees’ car?”

“It’s just behind the engine room, at the front of the train. I took a break to drink coffee like I usually do, then I checked with the engineer to ensure we could make up the four minutes.”

“Can we?”

“He said he’d do his best to get those four minutes back. Anyway, after that I went into the kitchen. I spent the next hour and a half preparing dinner. I loaded the cart, then went into the dining car at 6:02pm. Sorry for being so terribly late.”

Everypony but Quill rolled their eyes. Whistle continued, “After that, well, you were there. I served everypony, and at 6:11pm the lights went out.”

“You served about six cups of honeyed oats, one apple, about a half-dozen asparagus shoots, tomato soup with alfalfa sprinkled on, and a small chocolate molten cake for dessert for each meal. Oh, and water to drink, right?” Pinkie whipped off the list so fast, several ponies raised an eyebrow, including Whistle Stop.

“Uh, yeah. Wow, you have a pretty good memory,” Whistle Stop replied.

“Of course I do!” Pinkie exclaimed. “And don’t you forget it!” She turned to Slate and asked, “Who are you again…?”

“I’m—!”

“Wait! Why are you lying?” Pinkie whirled and pointed at Whistle Stop.

He blinked several times, and his cheeks flushed. “I-I’m not lying! What do you mean?”

Pinkie didn't stop to take a breath. “Well nine ponies times six cups of oats per pony, plus the time it takes to boil the asparagus in gasoline, filleting the tomatoes for the soup, then steaming them in a hibachi, PLUS sprinkling the alfalfa on with a small bore cannon, AND whipping up a chocolate molten cake using the rubber ducky and the sporks? That’s going to take exactly one hour and nineteen minutes, give or take thirty-seven seconds. At least the way I cook.”

Tiny and Slate scoffed, while the others just looked at her, thunderstruck. Whistle Stop stammered out, “Th-that’s right! How did you know that?”

“Good memory, remember? And knowing you, you’d know all that. You’re always checking the time. So that leaves you, what… about twenty minutes to yourself? What were you up to?” Pinkie shined the lamp right at Whistle Stop.

Sweat rolled down his face as he replied, “OKAY! I’m sorry, I was… uh, doing that thing I really like to do...”

Pinkie narrowed her eyes at him. “You like touching it?”

Whistle Stop looked down, the blush in his cheeks spreading to his entire face. “Yeah.” Ignis giggled while Ol’ Bitty’s eyebrows shot upwards. “I… just can’t control myself.”

“Spill it! What’s your kink? Murder? Cupcakes? Choking yourself? Do you have knismolagnia?” Pinkie’s smile became rather salacious, and she leaned a bit closer to Whistle Stop. “I could definitely help you with that!”

He cowered from her insane smile, and held his hooves up to guard himself. “What? No! I haven’t murdered anyone! And I don’t have knism… whatever. Uh, I don’t think… What is that?”

Pinkie shrugged, looked directly at the fourth wall, smiled wide, and said, “You’ll just have to check Google.” She turned back to Whistle Stop. “So what were you doing?”

“I… I was in my bunk…”

“Yeah…?” Pinkie leaned in closer, a grin splitting her face.

“I… I was…”

“What where you doing?”

“Winding my watch!” Whistle Stop squeezed his eyes shut, quivering, holding his crossed hooves in front of him like a shield.

“Pshh… Chronomania?” Pinkie sighed. “You think you've found a juicy fetish and what do you get? Chronomania? Seriously, Whistle Stop, you need to cut loose.” Pinkie unplugged the lamp from her ear; everypony blinked while their eyes adjusted. By the time Whistle Stop could see again, the table, lamp, ropes, and chairs had vanished. Pinkie closed her eyes and blew bubbles with her pipe. She scratched her chin with a hoof. “Hmmmm…”

“Well?” Slate asked, breathless. “Is he the thief?” Everypony leaned in towards Pinkie, unblinking.

Pinkie blinked her eyes open and replied, “Heck if I know. I was thinking about rocks!” She bounced into the next car while every other pony let out an incredulous breath. Several hooves found their owners’ foreheads. Pinkie stuck her head back into the car. “Hey, everypony’s gotta stick together! I got more detectiving to do!”

Tiny rolled her eyes. “That isn't even a word…”

Ol’ Bitty, on the Streets, with Lots of Baggage

Everypony shuffled into the next car. Luggage of every shape and color filled the car to the brim, stuffed into semi-neat rows and secured with ropes along each wall. However, two pieces of luggage sat in the middle of the aisle. One looked like a doctors’ bag with a dirty brown plaid pattern, and the other, a wooden chest with brass fittings.

Whistle Stop halted for a moment, walked to the plaid bag, and tilted his head. “That’s odd. It looks like somepony has been in this bag.” He poked the handles, which flopped apart and swayed with the motion of the train.

“Interesting…” Pinkie mumbled.

Slate stomped down the aisle and peered into the bag. “Whose bag is dis?” he asked Whistle.

“Yes, whose…?” Pinkie mumbled again.

Whistle Stop shook his head and replied, “I don’t know. This is a lost piece of luggage. We’re supposed to return it to the central office in Canterlot when we next pass through there.”

“Indeed…” Pinkie nodded, lost in thought.

Ol’ Bitty shuffled down the aisle and squeezed past Slate, who cocked an eyebrow. “Keep yer hooves off’a my things!” Bitty’s voice rumbled with ire, as she brandished her cane at Pinkie.

Pinkie more or less swam in a pile of dusty luggage, doing the backstroke. Most of these pieces of luggage bore a rather dated floral pattern of petunias. They were fashionable before Pinkie was even born. Pinkie swam in circles around several large pieces of furniture at the center of the pile, including a bed, armoire, and a cuckoo clock. “What does this little door do?” Pinkie asked, as she stuck her ear to the tiny door on the front of the clock. “Hellooooo? Anypony home?”

Cuckoo-Cuckoo

The tiny mechanical bird chimed as it extended out of the clock, into Pinkie’s ear… and out of Pinkie’s other ear, unimpeded. Pinkie didn’t blink, as she smiled with her tongue sticking out of one side of her mouth. Everypony else just stared at her with their mouths agape, as the cuckoo retreated back into its home. “Elementary!” Pinkie exclaimed, putting a hoof into the air.

Ol’ Bitty blinked several times, shook her head, and said again, “Git outta my things, you airhead!”

Pinkie dove into the luggage and vanished from sight. Ignis snickered, and Tiny scoffed. Hot Shot just looked perplexed as he asked quietly, “Where did she go?” Everypony leaned forward, listening, trying to find Pinkie.

“AH-HA!” Pinkie burst out of the plaid luggage sitting alone in the middle of the aisle. Everypony jumped; Ol’ Bitty stumbled and nearly fell down. “There’s plumbing supplies in this piece of luggage!”

Whistle Stop wiped his brow with his pocket square, trying to get his heart rate from galloping to trotting. “Um, yes, I guess it belonged to a plumber, or a plumbing supplies salesmare.”

“With a missing wrench!” Pinkie shouted triumphantly.

Everypony gasped. Slate recovered first and asked, “How do you know a wrench is missing?”

Pinkie hopped out of the bag, which looked like it could hold maybe a third of her volume, in one bound. She landed on all four hooves around the bag, then upended it, spilling its contents onto the floor. “See?” Pinkie said, pointing at each item in turn. “Plumbers’ tape, liquid cement, aluminum pipe, plastic pipe, straight piece, ninety-degree angled piece, screwdriver, plunger, rubber horseshoes… aaaannnd…” Pinkie waited for a reply, but nopony said anything. “No pipe wrench! What kind of plumber doesn't have a pipe wrench?!” Pinkie asked, looking around the car. Her eyes stopped on Ol’ Bitty.

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked, her voice creaky and sweet once again.

“Because you took it!” Pinkie shouted, bouncing like a basketball.

“What?” Ol’ Bitty looked at Pinkie like she had grown a second head. “Why in the wide world would I need a pipe wrench?”

Slate stood behind her, his voice like bricks on gravel. “Yes, why would you need a heavy chunk of metal?”

“For your new plumbing, of course!” Pinkie was bouncing again, and her smile was wide enough that Bitty could see her reflection in Pinkie’s teeth.

Ol’ Bitty tilted her head at Pinkie. “Eh? What new plumbing? I don’t even have old plumbing!”

Pinkie stopped bouncing, and her smile faded. “Aren't you moving?”

Ol’ Bitty looked down, while her cheeks flushed just a bit. “I am moving. How did you know?”

“Pshhh…” Pinkie scoffed. “Isn't it obvious? What else would you be doing with all this stuff? It’s enough to fill a house!”

Ol’ Bitty’s eyes snapped to Pinkie, as did every other set of eyes. Hot shot leaned closer to Ignis and whispered, “That’s a good point. Maybe she isn't an airhead.”

“I’m moving in with my children and grandchildren in Manehatten, not into a new house. Not that it’s any of your business…” Ol’ Bitty’s voice held a bitter edge.

“Wow, that’s great! They must have a huge mansion to be able to fit in all this stuff, plus their own family!” Pinkie chirped. Ol’ Bitty’s eyes narrowed on Pinkie, and a murderous scowl etched itself onto her face. “They must love you so much. Oh, can I throw you a ‘Welcome-to-your-new-home’ party?”

Ignis whispered back to Hot Shot, “No, definitely an airhead.”

Ol’ Bitty, still glaring at Pinkie, replied, “No, you may not. My children have a small, three-bedroom home in the outskirts of Manehatten. They don’t even have a front yard.” Her cheeks flushed, and angry tears welled up in her eyes, but didn't fall.

Pinkie tilted her head and knocked on the other side, like she was trying to get water out of one ear. “Huh? That doesn't make any sense. Why would you have all this stuff if you can’t get it into your new digs? Where am I going to find the room to throw you a party in there? What happened to your old home?”

Ol’ Bitty sniffled and looked down. “Well, if you must know—”

“And most importantly: do you have any feldspar?” Pinkie asked, much too close to Bitty. She leaned back, just as a powerful pair of hooves came down and pushed the two mares apart.

“Shut yer trap when an elder is talking.” Slate glared at Pinkie, then nodded for Bitty to continue. Hot Shot’s mouth dropped open and Tiny’s eyes widened to stare at Slate. Even Quill stopped scribbling and peeked over the top of her notebook. Pinkie seemed overjoyed while she looked between Slate’s hoof and his face.

Ol’ Bitty smiled and closed her eyes. “Why thank you, young stallion.” She turned and looked wistfully out the window at the blurring shapes whipping past the train. “Forty-four years ago, I met the stallion of my dreams. We got married and built our dream house.” Tiny rolled her eyes and yawned, while Bitty continued. “We had two beautiful children in that house. We raised them as best we could. One of them moved away to Manehatten with his bride, the other stayed with us in Ponyville. My oldest, the one in Manehatten, has children of his own— my precious grandfoals.” She paused and sniffed. Taking a deep breath, she kept talking. “I thought everything was perfect, and then seven years ago, it all started to fall apart. First, my husband and my daughter were in a carriage accident. They—” Bitty squeezed her eyes shut, and tears leaked from the corners. She shuddered with a sob once, then continued. “Afterwards, I tried to put my life back together. I shut myself away in my house, my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures and memories of happier times. I was getting better, until my doctor told me I had chronic kidney disease. I have to receive dialysis three times a week, or else. I didn't have enough money to pay for those treatments. I had a small pension, and my husband had a life insurance policy, but they didn't last forever. Money was getting tight, but I refused to leave my home. I talked to several bankers, but none of them would help me, until finally, I met this slick young stallion who convinced me to do a... ‘Home Equity line of credit,’ he called it. I’m still not one-hundred percent sure what that is, but I know it meant I had enough money to pay the bills for awhile. I knew it put my house up as collateral, but what else could I do? Everything was fine until about nine months ago. The payments for this loan shot sky high. I tried to talk to that slick stallion before the company foreclosed, but it’s too late. It’s way too late. I guess he’s dead now. Serves him right, the charlatan. He didn't even recognize me on the train platform…”

Bitty turned, head held high, ready to face Pinkie’s questions or accusations. Instead, she found everypony watching Pinkie and Slate dancing the tango up and down the car, with a rose held in Pinkie’s mouth. She had a huge, shining grin on her face, while Slate held a nasty scowl on his. He kept trying to get away from her, but no matter how he strained, it didn't seem to interrupt Pinkie’s two-step. Slate growled, “get offa me!” as he roughly body checked Pinkie away. They broke apart, but only because he bounced off of her, stumbled, and fell onto his rump.

“AH-HA!” Pinkie exclaimed with one hoof in the air. She wore her detectives’ hat and moustache again. How or where she got them, only Pinkie knew. “So you knew Felix before you stepped onto this train, and you have an excellent reason to kill him.” Everypony blinked several times and shook their heads to reset their focus on Pinkie and Bitty.

Slate stood and dusted himself off. He tilted his head at Pinkie. “Where did the rose go? And where did you get—”

“That’s right. I knew him, that filthy scam artist.” Ol’ Bitty’s voice had no sugar in it now. “But I didn't kill him. I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to know why he wanted my little home. I wanted to convince him to give it back. I certainly didn't kill him with a pipe wrench!”

Pinkie blew a raspberry and bounced with joy. “I didn't say anything about how you killed him. MURDERER!” She suddenly stopped bouncing and clapped her two front hooves onto Bitty’s cheeks. The skin was wrinkled, and her cheeks deformed to the point that Pinkie looked like she was squashing poor Ol’ Bitty’s face.

Ignis gasped, “That’s right! You never said anything about how Felix was killed! We… we caught her!”

Slate stomped up behind Pinkie and growled, “Leave the old broad alone; you’ll have to do a little better than that. You said she took the pipe wrench, and then accused her of murder. Look at her, are you really sure she done it?”

Pinkie let go of Ol’ Bitty, and her face sagged. The little old mare wobbled on her four legs, and blinked behind her half-moon spectacles. Pinkie puffed on her pipe again. “You’re right, I need more evidence, just like Twilight said. I’m still having trouble with this mystery. Where could it be…?”

Slate chuckled, “Where? Don’t you mean ‘who’?”

Pinkie’s brow went into a flat line, and she snorted. “Rocks aren't really a who, more of a what, silly! Didn't they teach you that in school? Welp, let’s find more clues!” Pinkie bounced away toward the end of the car.

Everypony stood there, dumbfounded. Quill raised one brow and gestured towards Pinkie while looking at everypony else. Tiny nodded and said, “I guess we follow her.”

Slate’s eye twitched as the rest of the ponies trotted into the next car. “Rocks…?” he mumbled to himself.

“Are you coming?” Pinkie asked from the doorway to the next car. “I have a good feeling there’ll be rocks in the next car; I can’t wait!”

Everypony rolled their eyes and followed Pinkie.

Tiny Tinsel, On the Road, With the Warpaint

“Sweet mother of Celestia! There ARE rocks in here!”

Indeed, the car contained several crates of coal, along with many other things. Packed against one wall sat a barrel filled with tools, including a rake, a backhoe, and a pickaxe. A half-dozen sealed barrels, with a water drop printed on them, rested on the opposite wall. Just to the group’s left stood a scuffed hoofcart, secured to the wall with a chain. A heavy, metal tool chest rested on top of a creaking, wooden crate, and next to that—an old radio! The power light was off, but the attached wire led to a sturdy-looking chrome microphone. Everything had, at minimum, a fine layer of dust on it.

“Perfect, now we can just radio for help,” Hot Shot chirped as he reached for the radio. He flicked the mini toggle switch to the ‘on’ position and spoke into the microphone. “Hey, can anypony hear me?” When nothing happened, he turned his head to Whistle Stop. “What gives?”

Whistle Stop flicked the switch a few times without results. He gently turned the radio down so it rested on its face, exposing its backside. The cover had been removed, and a few wires dangled inside, connected to nothing. Whistle’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the radio. “Somepony has removed the crystal in our radio. Without it, there’s no power, and no way to tune it.”

“Awww…” Pinkie whined. “I was hoping to call Twilight.”

Slate sneered at her. “Need some help? Can’t cut it as a gumshoe?”

Pinkie, unperturbed, chirped back, “Nah, I just wanted to ask her if she’s seen my rock.”

Whistle Stop stomped a hoof. “Who cares about your dumb rock? Somepony has committed a heinous crime!”

Tiny gave a little gasp. “No kidding. They left a bloody hoofprint on the floor!” She pointed to a spot on the floor just in front of the toolbox.

“It’s horrible! There WILL be consequences for this…” Whistle Stop said gravely.

“Uhhh, yeah. I think we all know that,” Ignis replied.

Whistle Stop nodded. “Vandalism of company property is a serious offense. The guilty party could be thrown off of Equestria Rail trains for LIFE! What kind of pony would do such a thing?”

Several hooves found their owner’s faces. Pinkie put her hoof in the air and hopped about, trying to get Whistle Stop’s attention. “Oh-oh-oh! I know this one! A murderer! YES! Slam dunk, case closed.” Pinkie slammed closed the briefcase she had just opened for no apparent reason.

“Put that down! That’s my luggage!” Whistle Stop cried. “How did you even get it open? It has a combination lock!”

Pinkie shrugged and said, “The code was one-two-three-four-five. It’s like, the smartest passcode ever! They should make you president, of like, a spaceship or something!”

“BLOODY HOOFPRINT!” Slate shouted, pointing at the obvious clue.

Pinkie’s smile suddenly split her face as she turned to Slate. “I didn't know you were from Trottingham! I love those accents! Say something else!”

“No,” Slate replied in a flat tone.

Pinkie clapped her hooves like a foal watching a clown. “C’mon, just one little phrase? Like ‘I’m off the trolley’?”

“Stop it,” Slate replied.

Pinkie glanced at Whistle Stop, wiggled her eyebrows, and said, “As the actress said to the bishop?” Whistle just tilted his head.

“Stop,” Slate said, louder this time.

“Throw a spanner in the works?” Pinkie had a hard time speaking without giggling. She kept bonking herself on the head in her excitement.

“STOP,” Slate commanded. The blood vessel on his forehead was throbbing.

“Got any crumpets or cake?” Pinkie asked with glee, drooling.

“I’M AT THE END OF MY TETHER!” Slate screamed, his mouth frothing with rage. His face flushed when he realized everypony, except for Pinkie, was looking at him with abject fear. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath he didn't realize he had held in for the last minute, when he heard what sounded like the sniffing of a bloodhound.

Pinkie crawled all over Slate like he was a statue, sniffing like a dog tracking a scent. He didn't realize what she was doing until she crawled off his side and back onto the ground. Her nose got so close to the bloody hoofprint she nearly inhaled it. “Hmmm…”

Everypony stared at Pinkie and the print now. Hot Shot leaned close to Ignis and whispered, “What do you think it means?” He turned to look at her and found his foreleg wrapped around Pinkie Pie instead of his special somepony.

“It’s a clue, silly!” she chirped in reply.

“Wha-what?!” He rapidly looked from Pinkie, next to him, to Pinkie… sniffing the hoofprint on the ground. He couldn't see both at the same time, but his head whipped back and forth as fast as it could go, and each Pinkie was still there when he checked.

“I’m quick, huh?” Pinkie asked, smiling at him.

“LET GO OF HER!” Ignis demanded. She stood right next to Hot Shot, on his other side. He quickly let go of Pinkie and wrapped a foreleg around Ignis. “That’s better…” she purred.

“Y-yeah…” Hot Shot stuttered. He kept his eyes on Ignis, just to make sure it WAS Ignis.

Tiny Tinsel sighed and whined, “Can we move this along?”

“Why? What’s the rush?” Pinkie asked. She was sitting on an overstuffed, red chair, puffing bubbles away on her pipe, wearing her special hat and mustache again. Tiny was certain the chair didn't exist moments ago. “Hmmm… Perhaps you’re the murderess. That bloody hoof print certainly told me a lot.”

Tiny swished her tail as if she were trying to bat away a bloodsucking insect. Her right eyelid twitched as she replied, “Good. I’m so glad you found a clue. Not like I pointed it out or anything, because that would make sense for the guilty party, just point out clues that will put them in jail.”

“EXACTLY!” Pinkie exclaimed triumphantly.

Ignis giggled. “Airhead…” she whispered to Hot Shot.

“It’s a perfect cover. You point out a clue that implicates you, then say you pointed it out, thus throwing suspicion off your tail.” Pinkie slammed Tiny into the overstuffed chair and flicked on the light attached to the miner’s hat she wore. “Spill it, Short Stack! What were you doing in the dining car when the lights went out?”

Tiny blinked in the glare. “Weren't you wearing a plaid hat a minute ago…?”

“I’ll be asking the questions here, Shorty!”

“Don’t call me Shorty!” Tiny growled back.

“Okay, but only if you tell me what happened. That’s a fair trade,” Pinkie said, nodding to herself.

Tiny scoffed and replied, “I don’t have to answer your questions, Pinko.” She folded her forelegs across her chest. “I've got rights, you know.”

“I know! You have the right to be treated like every other pony.” Pinkie nodded at Tiny, who nodded back.

“Yeah...”

“They shouldn't pat your head,” Pinkie said, gesturing to the rest of the ponies in the car.

“Yeah.”

“They shouldn't call you ‘Short Stuff’,” Pinkie continued, now pointing to Quiet Quill. Quill cowered into the corner of the room, using her notebook like a shield.

“Yeah!”

“You should tell me everything!” Pinkie spread her forelegs wide like she was going hug the world.

“YEAH!” Tiny shouted. “Wait…”

“You said yes! No taking it back! Tell-me tell-me tell-me!” Pinkie bounced rapidly on her hooves with unconstrained glee.

Tiny rolled her eyes. “If I tell you what I know, will you leave me alone?”

“Only if you’re not the murderer,” Pinkie replied, without missing a beat.

Slate’s mouth hung open. Hot Shot shook his head slowly and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “I can’t believe that worked.”

“I know! I didn't even have to break into song!” Pinkie replied, right next to him.

Hot Shot squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at the pony he had his foreleg around. “Pinkie isn't next to me. She’s across the car, interrogating Tiny Tinsel. My foreleg is around my special somepony.” He opened his eyes and looked. Pinkie’s giant smile greeted him. “Oh, come ON!”

Hot Shot felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Ignis glaring at him from his other side. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ignis shushed him with a hoof. She grabbed his foreleg, wrapped it around herself, and nodded with self-satisfaction. Despite her physical proximity, Hot Shot felt like Ignis stood a million miles away. He sighed and looked across the train car to watch the rest of the interrogation.

“So… whatcha’ doin’ here?” Pinkie asked, nonchalant.

“Getting interrogated by a bouncing pink retard. What does it look like I’m doing?” Tiny shot back. She had to squint into the light, which did nothing to improve her mood.

“No no no, I mean what are you doing on this train? Why are you here?” Pinkie eyed Tiny over her pipe.

Tiny sighed. “I’m a traveling salesmare. It’s my job to sell cosmetics door-to-door. I’m on my way to Las Pegasus for a conference. Of course, my cheap boss won’t send me there directly; I get to take the scenic route. So I’m heading for Manehatten to meet up with some other salesmares from the local office, then we all head to Las Pegasus for the conference.”

“What about Felix? How did you know him?”

Tiny shrugged and replied, “Easy, I don’t. We've never met before today.”

Pinkie puffed on her pipe, sending bubbles around the room. Quiet Quill smiled like a filly and poked one that drifted near her. Pinkie snorted and shined her light right at Tiny Tinsel. “Then why would you kill him?”

Slate’s eyes went wide for a split-second before he recovered. “Are you saying she did it? The midget?”

At the word ‘midget,’ Tiny’s ears twitched. Her entire body went rigid. She said quietly, hardly more than a whisper, “What did you just say?”

“Oh, don’t get your horn in a twist, sweetcheeks. I doubt you could hurt Felix; maybe some little fillies might be more your speed...” Slate snickered, and continued, “...or size.”

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Tiny screamed and lunged at Slate. With a casual flick of his hoof, Slate caught her in mid-air and slammed her onto her back. A strangled squeal came out of her mouth when Slate casually stepped on her throat and put a bit of weight on it.

“I think we found our killer,” Slate drawled with a wry grin. He looked down at his victim. “I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse. How about dis: you sing an’ tell me where the dough is, and I won’t play youses spine like an accordion.”

“Hey, I wasn't done asking questions!” Pinkie cried, with a stomp of her hoof. “Let her go, I still don’t know if she’s the killer.” Tiny’s eyes still glared up at the massive form of Slate. Even if she were foolish and flexible enough to kick upwards, she would be lucky to reach his barrel. She was simply too small in comparison to Slate’s bulk. Wordlessly, her horn glowed with a light green aura.

“What do you think you’re doing…!” Slate tilted his head, but at the last second his eyes went wide. Sweat poured down his brow, and his entire body became still, like a statue.

“I said, let her go!” Pinkie shouted. “You’re making her unhappy!”

“Okay,” Slate squeaked, as if he had inhaled helium. He carefully lifted his hoof, and Tiny scrambled away from him, coughing. She rubbed her throat and sucked in a long breath.

“Are you okay?” Pinkie sat Tiny down in the chair again. “I think it’s time for happy juice!” Pinkie pulled a shot glass, already filled with some caramel-colored liquid, out from under her miner’s hat. She pressed a hind hoof on Tiny’s tail, causing her mouth to open like a garbage can. “Down the hatch!” There wasn't too much in the shot glass, so it only took half a second for Tiny to ingest the stuff.

Coughing and sputtering, Tiny wiped her mouth and hollered, “What the heck was that stuff?! It tastes… uh… tastes… pretty gooooooddd…” Her eyes became heavily lidded, and she smiled for the first time. She had a rather pretty smile, pearly white teeth and eyes that gleamed with joy.

“That’s better,” Pinkie said, nodding to herself. “I just love making ponies smile. And if you must know, that was a little bit of my good friend Applejack’s hard cider.” The other ponies in the room looked on, some with abject fear.

“Some cider,” Slate mumbled.

“So, why don’t you tell me what happened in the dining car tonight?” Pinkie asked.

Tiny giggled a bit and replied, “Well, I didn't see much. Just… Just… he-he-he that jerk Felix.” Her smile left her face. “He was a mean, meanie-meanie-pants. Heh. He called me short and spilled coffee on me. So I went to clean myself up. Powder my nose. I like putting powder on. So what, you wanna call me a little filly?!” She put her hooves on Pinkie, like she was going to strangle her, but Pinkie didn't seem to mind the threat. Tiny swayed a bit, trying to keep her hooves in place.

“Nope, you’re not a filly. You’re a grown mare!” Pinkie chirped.

“He-he-he,” Tiny giggled again. “I like you, funny pony. Not him, though.” She pointed with an unsteady hoof at Whistle Stop. He blinked in surprise with a ‘who-me’ plastered on his face, and pointed a hoof at himself. “Yeah, you. I’m not a little filly. I've got a cutie mark, and a mortgage. That’s why I snuck past you on the way to the bathroom. I don’t need your help, I can do it myself. You got a nice bathroom in the employees' car.”

Pinkie blew a few bubbles on her pipe. “Why didn't you use the bathroom in the sleeping car?”

Tiny focused on Pinkie again, or at least tried to. Her eyes wandered around Pinkie’s face. “It was locked.”

Ignis gasped, “That could have been the murderer in there!”

Slate stomped a hoof. “So it’s a mare! Good job, we narrowed down the suspects.”

Pinkie shook her head. “Nope, the bathrooms are unisex on this train. There’s only one in the sleeping car anyway. I guess the employees get their own, which is also unisex, right?” Pinkie turned to Whistle Stop, who nodded. “Welp, that’s a nice clue, but it doesn't really tell me much.” Pinkie sighed and turned back to Tiny. “So… when are you going to get fired from your job?”

Tiny blinked and looked down. “I don’t know. Soon, I guess.”

Slate shook his head. “How did you know she’s gonna get canned?”

Pinkie sighed, her mane going flat for a moment. “Easy, she’s got a letter from her boss telling her to shape up or ship out. That’s why she needs bits. Lots of them, and fast. I guess screaming at customers who pat you on the head or call you short isn't good for business.”

“I said I was sorry! And I’m going to pay for his dental work, honest! I just need a few extra bits…” Tiny whined.

“Okay, that’s motive. Are you convinced she’s the killer now?” Slate asked.

“I agree it’s motive, but it doesn't prove she did it. You gotta have evidence for that,” Pinkie said, as she wandered around the car, stopping to stand over the bloody hoofprint again. “Hmmm…”

“What kinda cider was dat? I never seen booze dat strong before,” Slate remarked, waving a hoof in front of Tiny’s face. She smiled like a foal and relaxed into the chair.

“Oh, that’s probably not the cider. I slipped her a mickey,” Pinkie replied, as if discussing the weather. She turned to the other ponies in the car and smiled.

Hot Shot tilted his head. “Um, what’s a mickey?” he asked. Ignis facehoofed.

“Heh, HA-HA-HA!” Slate’s laugh rumbled from his belly. “Wow, you ARE a dangerous mare. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

Pinkie blew several bubbles on her pipe. “Hmmm… interesting. Do you smell that?” Pinkie’s nose seemed to have a will of its own. It pulled her forward while she grinned and said, “I smell something good in the next car. Let’s go, maybe it’s another clue!”

Slate roughly shoved the group into the next car. It didn't take much coaxing at this point, especially for Tiny. She simply drifted along with the group, like she was on a cloud.

Hot Shot and Ignis, in the Kitchen, With the Love Potion

The next car certainly smelled good; most kitchens do. This kitchen looked a bit unusual. It looked more like an assembly line. All the surfaces were shiny chrome, and each table had a miniature guard rail. Their function became obvious as the train rumbled down the track. Several small, glass jars of spices gently rattled against one rail at the edge of the counter. A large pot sat on the stove, and several more pots and pans hung from hooks dangling from the ceiling.

Pinkie, still acting like a bloodhound, approached the stovetop and bit down on the lid covering the pot. She tossed the lid away like a frisbee, then looked into the pot with a wide grin punctuated by drool. Her smile didn't last long. “Hey, where’s the soup?”

Whistle Stop shrugged. “Everypony ate it for dinner. I didn't make extra.”

“What if it was poisoned?” Tiny asked with a giggle. “Oh, you’re so devious, Whistle Stop. Feed everyone the evidence, a brilliant way to get rid of it.”

“Yeah… I don’t think so.” Pinkie shook her head. “If he poisoned all of the soup, wouldn't we all be dead? And if he only poisoned one bowl of soup, he wouldn't need to get rid of all of it, just the one bowl.” Pinkie sighed and took in a deep breath. Her bloodhound routine started up again, but this time, she acted like there was a pot of gold at the end of the trail. “I… smell… CHOCOLATE!” she exclaimed when she flung open the corner cabinet and found the desserts.

Pinkie found custards, a rhubarb pie, a stack of donuts with sprinkles, and plenty of licorice. A box labeled “chocolate” hid behind the donuts. When Pinkie popped the top off, her smile vanished. “Heh, sorry Miss Detective,” Hot Shot piped up. “We swiped ‘em.”

Pinkie gasped and said breathlessly, “You mean those chocolate wrappers in your bunk came from here? Where are the rest of them?” Pinkie frantically searched the cabinet, high and low.

“We took all of them,” Hot Shot said with a shrug. He turned to Ignis, under his wing, and said, “Sweets for the sweet,” with a dopey smile on his face.

She blushed, leaned into him, and said, “Oh, that’s… so kind. Did you get me flowers, too?”

Hot Shot tilted his head at her. “No, I got you the chocolates. Chocolates, sweets, ya know?”

Ignis tittered, rolling her eyes. “Oh Hot Shot, it’s a good thing I have enough brains for the two of us.”

Hot Shot closed his eyes and leaned in for a kiss, whispering, “I might not have the biggest brain, but I do have a big—”

“HI!” Pinkie almost shouted. Hot Shot’s eyes popped open to find himself face-to-face with Pinkie, his lips still puckered. “Go monologue in the corner with this,” Pinkie chirped, and shoved a pony’s skull into Hot Shot’s face.

He almost kissed it. He backpedaled, fumbling with the skull before catching it. Blinking several times with wide eyes, he sputtered, “Wh-what in T-tartarus? Who’s s-skull is this? How did you—? Ignis?” He sounded like a lost colt.

Pinkie’s reply made Hot Shot’s expression even deeper. “You’d be surprised what you can find lying around in a graveyard at night under a willow tree.” Without further explanation, she turned to Ignis. “What’s your story, huh? You two just on a trip to get away from your parents?”

Ol’ Bitty chimed in, “How can you know that? You have no idea who these two are!”

“Yeah...” Slate added.

Hot Shot sat in the corner staring at the skull. “Alas, poor pony. I have no idea who you are…”

Pinkie shook her head. “That’s not true! I totally know about Ignis Lignum. She’s the heiress to the wealthy Lignum family fortune. Your mom and dad own Tinder Pine Lumber, one of the biggest logging companies in Equestria, right?”

Ignis giggled and replied, “Yeah. TIMBER Pine Lumber is my dad’s company. That was just a misspelling when he applied for his business license.”

Pinkie tilted her head, but continued to smile. “He doesn't really sound detail-oriented. How did he manage to make himself a multi-millionaire?”

Slate’s breath hitched in his throat. “D-did you say multi-millionaire? As in, MORE than one million bits?”

Pinkie pulled out her pipe again and looked at Slate. “Yeah,” she deadpanned.

“Well, then I don’t think she done it. Why would the pretty doll here try to whack Felix if she can just ask daddy for another cool mil?”

Pinkie adjusted her hat. “We’ll see. There’s more than one reason to commit murder,” she stated simply, turning back to Ignis and Hot Shot. “I've gotta know… Do you have any feldspar?”

Hot Shot rolled his eyes and mumbled to Ignis, “Airhead.”

Ignis popped him with her elbow—hard. “She’s not an airhead,” she whispered back. “Let me handle this.”

Hot Shot stood at attention, leaning slightly forward, as if he could guard Ignis from the questions Pinkie now started to rapid-fire at her. “Why and when did you steal all the chocolate? How long have you two been engaged? Does your father approve of you marrying a common lumberjack? Was Hot Shot fired for dating the boss’s daughter? What did you do when the lights went out? Did you try to poison Felix when you snuck into the kitchen? What are you celebrating? What have you two been doing inside your bunk with the cover’s drawn? And… do you think Felix’s death will speed up the payment to Tinder Pine Lumber?”

The questions came so fast that Hot Shot felt dizzy. The train clacked over the tracks, making the entire car vibrate the lights flicker. Ignis smiled and replied without batting an eye. “You seem awfully well-informed about my… Daddy’s company.”

Pinkie bounced in place. “Of course I am. I tasted the newspaper this morning!”

Ignis coughed and rolled her eyes. “Of course you did.”

“Yepperooni. I know Tinder Pine Lumber is in litigation with Sound Stables because Sound Stables refused to pay them for about a bajillion metric tons of construction lumber. Something about the wood being too green and soft. And I know Sound Stables is more than just one of Felix’s many clients. He’s a major stakeholder and manager of the company, right? I also know the stock price of Tinder Pine has dropped seventy-eight percent over the last ten months, when all that litigation started.”

Most of the ponies in the room were staring at Pinkie. Ol’ Bitty was silently mouthing words like “client,” “cool mil,” “stakeholder,” and “seventy-eight percent,” but she squinted at Pinkie like she was a puzzle missing a half-dozen pieces. Only Ignis replied, and she did so without pause. “When we snuck away from the sleeping car, because we wanted some time alone with each other. Eight months. About as much as he approves of getting red-hot pokers jammed into his eyeballs. No, but only because I protected him. Stayed in my seat next to Hot Shot. Of course not, I don’t even care about the company, so why would I do that? Our imminent engagement.” Ignis glanced at Hot Shot and fluttered her lashes. “None of your business. And yes, I suspect Mommy and Daddy will be pleased to hear of this evening’s events.”

Slate shook his head, and said what was on the minds of most of the ponies in the car. “Wait-wait-wait… What? What are you talking about?”

Ignis smirked at Pinkie and said, “Well, that should about cover it.”

Pinkie blew a few more bubbles on her pipe and rested her chin on her hoof. She sat in a plaid, overstuffed chair, which wasn’t there five seconds ago. Whistle Stop blinked several times at the chair, then poked it once, just to make sure it was real. Pinkie closed her eyes, removed the pipe from her mouth, and shook her head slowly. “Nope, not gonna cut it.”

“You don’t follow?” Ignis asked quietly, her smirk growing just a bit wider.

“No, I don’t,” Pinkie replied. “I mean, at LEAST one of those answers is a lie. What I don’t get is why you thought you could get away with it?”

Ignis looked like she’d been slapped. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Hot Shot growled at Pinkie, “Stop it! Leave her alone!” The light’s flickered again as the train bounced over a rough section of track. Whistle Stop sneered and glanced at one of the lights.

Pinkie quirked an eyebrow at him. “Stop what?”

“Stop…” Hot Shot looked between Pinkie and Ignis. “Stop whatever it is you’re doing. You’re upsetting my fiancee. Don’t you know she’s delicate?”

“Delicate as a bear trap,” Pinkie mumbled. She stood and walked to Hot Shot, who stood guard in front of Ignis. “Look, I just need to talk to Ignis for a little bit. I don’t want to embarrass you two when I ask her about… stuff. Why don’t you play with this super-awesome toy for a minute?” Pinkie suddenly wore a gigantic, oversized grin. She held out a small, red paddle ball with a target in the middle.

“I’m not going to be distracted by—Ooooo, ball!” Hot Shot snatched the paddleball away from Pinkie and scampered off to the corner of the car. He proceeded to play with the paddle ball, and immediately achieved a new personal high score: two. The rest of the ponies in the car had their jaws on the floor.

“Now, I just need to know a few things about what the two of you were doing alone together.” Pinkie’s request was given in the same tone she used to order sandwiches. Ignis blushed furiously, but leaned in and whispered in Pinkie’s ear. “Uh-huh… Yeah… Obviously… Uh-huh… That sounds uncomfortable… Uh-huh… I didn't know ponies could bend that way… Of course… That sounds totally hot and sweaty! Anything else?” Ignis shook her head, her cheeks still ruddy. She looked down and said no more. “I’m still not convinced one of you didn't kill Felix. How do I know you didn't poison him? And why did you have that special request for dinner?”

Whistle Stop perked up. “What special request?”

Without turning to face him, Pinkie replied, “I don’t know exactly. A salad, I think.”

“She prefers a tossed salad as an after-dinner treat,” Hot Shot said, tossing away the paddleball. Slate snickered when Hot Shot said, “What? It’s just a tossed salad.” Ignis blushed.

“I’m concerned she knew her tossed salad was poisoned,” Pinkie answered. She tilted her head at Hot Shot.

“Fine, I’ll toss her a salad right now, and you can watch me. Will that satisfy you?” Hot Shot asked. Slate doubled over, laughing silently.

Pinkie nodded. “I would be satisfied watching you toss her a salad.” Slate could hardly breathe; he had stuffed both front hooves in his mouth, and his eyes watered.

Hot Shot darted to the kitchen counter where the spices sat. “I’ll show you how well I can toss a salad!”

“Don’t forget the most important part: the creamy dressing!” Pinkie called to him. That was the last straw for Slate, who fell to the floor, bellowing with laughter. Ignis blushed so much, her entire face was red. “What?” Pinkie asked, looking at Slate. “It’s just a few leaves of lettuce, chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions. What’s the big deal?”

Slate stood, wheezing. “N-nothing, sweetcheeks. You keep searching for the murderer. I’ll watch Hot Shot toss a salad.” He laughed again.

“Oh, I get it,” Pinkie said, with a knowing look. “You’re one of those ponies.”

Slate rocked back on his hooves. He swallowed and asked, “What do you mean?”

Pinkie poked him in the ribs with a wry smile. “You like a special kind of tossed salad, don’t you?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his face when Slate replied, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah, I can see it now. You, tossing a salad…”

Slate glared at her. “Aren't you supposed to be trying to find a murderer?”

“...WITH CROUTONS!” Pinkie exclaimed triumphantly with a hoof in the air. Slate stood, dumbstruck. “What a freak… So Hot Shot, how’s it going?”

Tiny rubbed her temples and mumbled, “No shouting, please. Oh, my head. What was in that drink?”

Hot Shot looked over his shoulder. “I’m just about ready. How does this taste, baby?” He offered a bit of the salad to Ignis.

Ignis smiled, took a stride to reach him, and bit down on the morsel. She crunched it for a moment with her eyes closed. “It tastes like—”

“Poison?” Ol’ Bitty quavered.

“It needs pepper.” Ignis deadpanned, then gently put a hoof around Hot Shot. “Let me help you with that, Hot Stuff. It just needs a little more spice. Of course, you did better than Whistle Stop.”

“Why thank—HEY!” Whistle Stop stomped a hoof. “I get plenty of compliments for my cooking! I never over- or under-cook, everything is right on time!” The train hit a particularly rough patch of tracks and the lights flickered on and off every second. Whistle Stop sighed; Pinkie watched him cross the car like a choppy stop-motion video, and adjust the gas line valve. The lights flickered once more before they returned to normal.

Tiny blinked several times. “Great, now I have a headache.”

Ignis rolled her eyes at Whistle Stop. “Yeah, your soups are okay, but your salads are bland. You don’t cook a salad, you just have to add the right ingredients in the right amounts and mix them. Here, taste.” She walked right up to Whistle Stop and stuffed a morsel in his mouth.

“Hey, I know how to—oh, oh wow, that is good. The p-pepper real-lly… r-r-really… ah-ACHOO!” Whistle Stop blew a male sneeze, that is to say, a sneeze designed to clear nasal passages, or drain pipes clogged with cement. Ignis winced. “S-sorry!” Whistle Stop pulled out his pocket square and wiped Ignis all over her face, neck, and chest.

Hot Shot nearly tackled him, but instead he opted to simply shove him away—hard. “Hooves off, buddy, unless you wanna tangle with me!” He crouched and spread his wings, ready to pounce. Whistle Stop held his hooves up to shield himself from the other stallion.

Ignis ran a hoof gently along Hot Shot’s wing. Pinkie could see the shiver start at his pinions and run all the way to his spine and down his tail. “Shhhh… Everything is alright now, Hot Shot,” Ignis cooed. “There’s no need for more violence.”

Pinkie was back in the chair, puffing away at her pipe. With so many bubbles in the air, it was getting difficult to actually see her. “Hey, Miss Detective?” Slate called out into the cloud of bubbles. “Are you getting anywhere?”

“Yepperooni,” Pinkie said, standing right behind him. Slate jumped and swung his head around to find pinkie scratching her chin again. “Hmmm, interesting… it all fits. Still need the most important question answered, though…”

Slate swallowed and asked, “Do you mean to say you know who done it?”

Pinkie popped the pipe out of her mouth and replied, “Almost. I've got a few theories as to exactly how it happened. We’re going to have to keep moving. I have an idea that might make the killer reveal themselves.”

Slate’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “And, the killer has the dough?” he asked breathlessly.

“Oh yeah, the killer took the bond for sure. I don’t know if he or she still has it, but they definitely took it,” Pinkie answered. “There’s two more things I need. Number one: get perspective from Quiet Quill to make sure I didn't miss anything, and to confirm a few things.” Pinkie pointed at Quiet Quill, hiding in the back of the group, still writing in her notebook.

Slate smirked. “I don’t think she’ll answer your questions.”

Pinkie shrugged and replied, “She doesn't need to. She’s been writing everything down in her diary.”

Slate’s eyes darted between Quill and Pinkie. “Wait, you mean that’s not a novel she’s writing?”

“Nope, that’s her diary. She’s pretty observant, too. Number two: I need to check with the engineer to confirm something.”

“He’s not the killer, is he?” Slate looked forward, towards the front of the train, like his gaze could burn a hole through all that metal.

“Hee-hee-hee! Not a chance!” Pinkie giggled. “Oh…” Pinkie’s hair deflated as she looked at the rest of the ponies. “We should hurry, we’re running out of time.”

Slate tilted his head at her. “What do you—”

Whistle Stop stumbled to Pinkie, swaying unevenly on his hooves. “Excuse me, Miss Detective, but can we move along into the next car? I think I need to lay down. I’m… not feeling well.”

Pinkie huffed, “Well, that’s just great. Now I’m going to have to figure out how—Wait a minute! That’s it!”

“What? What’s it? Did you solve the mystery?”

Pinkie bounced in place and exclaimed, “Nope, but I’m about to! Everypony, LET’S GO!”

Slate led them into the next car, with Pinkie supporting Whistle Stop. “Sorry about this,” Whistle Stop apologized. “I just don’t handle stress so well, and this evening has been, well, stressful. I think I need to lie down.”

“It’s okay,” Pinkie whispered to him. “But can we hurry? We’re almost out of time, and the killer is getting away!”

Quiet Quill, Lost in Thought, with the Pen

The rest of the group was already in the next car when Pinkie half dragged Whistle Stop in. The car felt cozy, with all of the bunks set against the walls. Whistle Stop put a hoof to his head and massaged his temple. “Oh boy, I think I’m going to pass out. I need to take my nitroglycerin.” Pinkie opened his vest pocket and took out a bottle of pills. Whistle Stop swallowed two of them dry, and with Pinkie’s help, climbed into his bunk. He sank into the pillow and sighed. “Thanks, I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Pinkie looked around the car. Unlike the sleeping cars designed for the customers, the bunks here bore signs of personalization. Whistle Stop’s bunk had a clock set near his head. Ol’ Bitty sat near Whistle Stop on the only open chair. Slate watched Ignis, Hot Shot, and Tiny while the three of them stood in the middle of the car, looking down. Quiet Quill still scribbled in her diary, half-hidden in a shadowed corner of the car. “Can I borrow that?” Pinkie asked, pointing to the notebook. Quill hugged her diary like it was a foal, while her lower lip quivered. “I promise I’ll give it back. You’re the key to helping me find out who the guilty party is! Heh, guilty party. That sounds like fun, maybe I could make a new kind of party…” Pinkie put a hoof to her chin. She didn't even notice the diary until it touched her shoulder. “Huh? Oh, thank you! I promise I’ll take good care of it.” Pinkie took the offered diary from Quill and stuffed it into her mane. Quill stuck close to Pinkie as she trotted to the middle of the car.

“Another hoofprint!” Hot Shot exclaimed. The three ponies stood around what appeared to be a bloody hoofprint. It was smeared on the ground, as if whoever left it there did so in a hurry.

Pinkie nodded and put on her hat and mustache. She pulled out her magnifying glass and aimed it at the print. “Hmmm…”

“See anything?” Slate asked.

“Yep, there’s a little feather stuck to the print.” Pinkie said quietly. Still looking through the magnifying glass, she meandered about the room.

“YOU!” Slate whirled on Hot Shot. “Is he the one?” Slate asked, his eyes locked on the pegasus.

“Maybe, but I still need to talk to—what’s this…?” Pinkie aimed her sight at the corner of the room. She whipped out her pipe and blew a few bubbles.

“Undone by a feather. You and I is havin’ words,” Slate growled as he advanced on Hot Shot.

Hot Shot’s superior agility wouldn't serve him in the cramped quarters of the sleeping car, and he couldn't dive out of the portholes. “S-stay back! I’m warning you!” he stammered, as he backed away from the muscular Slate. “I don’t want to—” he backed up all the way into the wall near the entryway. There was a click, and the entire car went black.

“HEY! Who turned out the lights?!”
“Hots, turn the lights back on.”
“Not again…”
“Ow, who was that?”
“Turn the lights back on, there’s a killer in here!”
“Everypony freeze!”

Click

The lights flickered back on. Pinkie had her flank pressed against the door at the front of the car, and Hot Shot, unintentionally, blocked the door at the back. Pinkie nodded and said, “Whew, at least nopony got out of the car. Now then, Slate, would you check the bunk next to that hoofprint? I think we found Felix.”

“We did?” Bitty asked.

Pinkie bounced on her hooves and chirped, “Yepperooni! I’m almost sure of it. There’s one other possibility, but since I see what looks like blood leaking out of that bunk…”

Every eye snapped to the bunk just to the right of the hoofprint. There was a thin, red line that made several ponies gulp. Slate slowly walked to it. He pulled back the curtain slowly, and ducked his head to look in.

He backpedaled and put a hoof to his mouth, retching. “Urg, I hope that’s not Felix.”

The other ponies looked away while Pinkie bounced cheerfully to the bunk in question. “Hmmm…” She looked inside the same way she might look at a common flower.

Inside the bunk, Pinkie saw something most ponies only see in nightmares.

It appeared to be a pony lying on the bunk, but his or her age, height, weight, and other details would be difficult to ascertain. The pony’s body had been badly beaten, the skull had been caved in, and there was a great deal of blood. Pinkie didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest as she used her magnifying glass to look over the grisly scene. She sniffed, while wafting any odors from the bunk with a hoof.

“Aren't you grossed out?” Tiny asked from far away.

“Nahh, I’m okay. Plus, there’s another clue here.”

“How many clues do you need? Aren't we done? Haven’t yous figured out who done it yet?” Slate asked.

Pinkie smiled. “You know, there are so many ponies in this car, and so many possibilities. Back when we started, I realized all of you could have done it. You all have a motive, and had plenty of time before dinner to set things up. Or mess things up. There’s almost no way to tell who did what, when, especially because I can’t easily believe anything anypony says.”

Slate’s shoulders slumped. “So… You can’t find the money?”

“You mean the killer?” Hot Shot deadpanned at him.

“Finding one means finding the other,” Pinkie replied. “Although, the killer might not have the bond anymore. I can figure it out with THIS!” Pinkie reached into her mane and pulled out something she had never found in her mane before…

Nothing.

“Hey! Where did the diary go?” Pinkie huffed. “Come on, give it back,” she said, as she crept toward Quiet Quill like a stalking cat. Quill darted away from Pinkie, who gave chase. They ran around the car, while the rest of the group looked on in awe.

Quiet Quill’s ability to dodge was uncanny. She feinted left, then went right. She couldn't get out of the cramped quarters, so she didn't get far, but when Pinkie tried to tackle her, she bounced and sailed over her head. “Get her!” Slate cried.

“Wow, I didn't think anypony could bounce like me! Can I take lessons?” Pinkie asked, as she chased the frightened mare down the aisle. There were four ponies in the middle of the car, and they all tried to catch the elusive Quill. With a jump, flip, and tumble, a maneuver that would make a gymnast proud, she slipped by all four of them!

“How is she doing that?!” Slate hollered. She reached the other end of the car, lunging for the door. With a swift motion, Ol’ Bitty stuck out her cane, and Quill went from agile gymnast to a flurry of pony limbs. Pinkie burst out of the bunk opposite in the aisle and tackled Quill before she could hit the ground. Slate looked behind him, then back to the other end of the car. “How did you do that?”

Pinkie wrestled with Quill, without success. Quill’s grip on her diary was ironclad. “Don’t make me pull out my secret weapon!” Pinkie cried. Quill hugged her diary even harder, creasing the paper. “You asked for it!” Pinkie said with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, please don’t hurt her,” Bitty requested, as she watched the two young ponies fight over the notebook.

“Oh don’t worry, I’d never hurt anypony,” Pinkie replied. Then, she promptly jammed both forehooves into Quill’s sides. “TICKLE TIME!”

“HAHAHA!” Quill let out a loud, musical laugh. Her grip instantly faltered, and it was all Pinkie needed to snatch the diary.

“Got it!” Pinkie called, as she trotted away. Quill stood and followed close behind, her lower lip quivering, and tears welling in her eyes. “Like I said, I won’t reveal your deepest, darkest secrets. I just need to know what happened this evening.” Pinkie opened the book, and after flipping through a few pages, began to read out loud.

Dear Diary,

This mare next to me won’t stop trying to sell me makeup. I hate talking, and I don’t want other ponies to look at me, so why buy makeup? I can hear the train, thank Celestia. Maybe I can get some peace and quiet on the way. I need some time alone after… him.

Goddess, I still can’t stop thinking about him. Soft, tan fur, chocolate tail and mane. Plus his silver tongue. Oh, the things he could do with his tongue!

Pinkie blushed, but continued to read.

He could heal and help with just words. Wrap a pony in soft silk with his speech. Nopony knew just how cruel he could be when we were alone. His words turned into knives, cutting at my soul. I just didn't realize how bad it got until I couldn't write anymore.

He blamed me, of course. Writer’s block was all my fault, all in my head. It wasn't until I left him that the words came back. My muse has returned! But the words are a trickle compared to the river that I once had. This trip to the coast could do me so much good. It might help me write again!

The train is here, I hope things go smoothly.

Pinkie turned the page.

This flankhole won’t leave me alone. The rest of the ponies on the train are okay, even that crazy pink one, but this Felix guy. Urg! He’s got to go. He thinks he’s so smooth, but I've seen his type before. He won’t steal my muse, oh no, not again. He’s got soft, tan fur, and a silver tongue, too. He keeps following me around, even when I leave for another car.

I tried slipping into the kitchen, but the nice conductor pony’s in there making dinner. I don’t want to bother him. I can’t stay in the sleeping car, that couple is in there, and I don’t want to listen to them. I saw a pony in the luggage car as well. I’m pretty sure it was the old mare with all that stuff, looking for something. She’s got too much luggage for one trip, that’s for sure. So here I am, hiding in the storeroom, trying to write. Wait, I hear something… Oh no, here he comes again.

Goddess, his eyes. Always following me, watching, crawling over my flank. I know what he wants. He offered to take care of me, knowing I was a poor writer. Go to Tartarus, you flankhole! I’m not a whore, I don’t need you! You’re all the same, you just take take take. Well, you try to take from me, and I’ll give you something you’ll never forget!

I’m going into the caboose. There’ll be other ponies there; I should be safer in a group. Goddess, I hate being in a crowd, but what other choice do I have? I’m just a poor, lone mare. It’s just me, and I don’t have anypony to protect me.

Pinkie turned the page and continued.

What’s going on? The lights went out, and there was yelling and screaming. Now that jerk is missing, and there’s blood left where he was sitting. No pony deserves that, not even this Felix character. I hope he’s okay.

We keep moving through the train, looking for clues. There’s definitely a murderer among us. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this, but honestly? I’m not worried about the killer. If somepony tries anything funny, I’ll mess them up! I’m a survivor, I’ve seen worse, I’ll never give up.

I’ve watched the other ponies on the train. The old mare with the cane? She’s tricky, that’s for sure. She’s not mean or anything, but there’s more to her than meets the eye. The couple that keeps kissing each other? I don’t think they’re killers, but they’re hiding something, too. The mare of the couple is especially keen. The little unicorn that kept yammering at me on the train platform? She’s got an explosive temper, but as long as she’s got her head on straight, she’s actually quite cunning. Don’t even get me started on Felix’s bodyguard. That stallion is a stone-cold killer. I don’t see why he’d kill his client, but I could easily see him killing anypony else. Then there’s this hyperactive pink pony. I can’t see her hurting a fly, but… let’s just say we’re never going to be friends.

And then there’s the conductor, Whistle Stop.

“Um… why did you use a heart to dot the ‘i’ in his name?” Pinkie asked. Quill blushed and looked away, while Pinkie continued to read.

So cute, and nice! I could watch him all day. He tried to talk to me, but didn't force me to say anything! Diary, do you know how rare that is? How hard it is to keep up a conversation with weak, stupid me? If we get out of here, I want him near me. When he’s near, all sorts of nice words come into my head. I might even start that novel, for real this time. Maybe I should skip the coast and just keep riding the train, watching him instead of the waves on the beach.

Quiet Quill tugged on Pinkie’s tail, pointing toward the back of the car, but Pinkie ignored her and flipped the page. “Hmmm…” Pinkie mumbled. “A little more about Whistle Stop here. I don’t know if it’s necessary to read that out loud. Or THAT out loud!” Pinkie blushed as she flipped the diary closed. “What’s so important? Uh oh…” Pinkie finally turned and looked at what Quill was pointing at: Whistle Stop, asleep in his bunk. He looked pale. Pinkie galloped to him and put a hoof to his forehead. She sighed and said, “He’s alive.”

The other ponies in the car let out a breath. “What’s wrong with him?” Ol’ Bitty asked.

Pinkie turned and looked at her with a glare. “Oh, you don’t know?” She pulled out the pill bottle from his jacket pocket. She read the bottle carefully and shook it once. There were only two pills left inside. “Tell me, Bitty. How important is it to take your medication?”

Ol’ Bitty tilted her head at Pinkie and replied, “Very important, I suppose. I only take a vitamin with my breakfast, it’s kept me healthy.”

Pinkie nodded slowly before she turned and looked at the final door to the last car. “We need to talk to the engineer, quickly. I need to get the medical kit and give Whistle Stop something for his heart, or we might have two dead ponies.”

End of the Line

The door to the engine room crashed open. Pinkie darted in, follow by the rest of the group, minus Whistle Stop. Inside, sweltering heat greeted them with almost physical force. A massive pile of coal sat on one side of the car, while a dark silhouette of a pony shoveled coal into a roaring furnace. The heat felt almost unbearable. The fire became a dull roar when the pony slipped the shovel into the pile of coal and shut the furnace door.

“Hey! Mr. Engineer, we need to help Whistle Stop. He’s been poisoned,” Pinkie called out to him with a smile on her face. She looked like she was about to eat a cupcake. The rest of the ponies stared with a mixture of awe and horror. Only Slate stood by Pinkie stoically.

“Well…” the engineer said as he turned. His body and face were still mostly hidden, backlit by the furnace, but Pinkie could see the pony a bit better now. An earth pony or a unicorn, she assumed, since he had no wings. A striped hat covered his brow and most of his mane. His uniform, a set of blue overalls, was crisp and nicely pressed, just like Whistle Stop’s uniform. He spoke quietly. “That’s a problem. We’re almost to the next stop, can it wait until then?”

Pinkie shook her head. “No way! I need to get the medical kit and give him something for his heart, pronto! Did you know Whistle Stop has a heart condition?” Pinkie asked, while blowing a bubble on her pipe.

“Uh, no, I didn't. That’s a real bummer for him. The medical kit is in the storage car. Um, what are all these ponies doing in here?” The engineer pointed a hoof at the group standing behind Pinkie.

“Oh, not a big deal. They’re just here to help catch a murderer,” Pinkie said, matter-of-factly. The engineer made a sound in his throat like he had choked.

“Okay, lets get that med kit,” Slate commanded. He turned to the engineer and barked, “and you’re coming with us! You might be the killer!”

“W-what?” The engineer stammered. “Th-there’s no way I’m the killer! I've been in here all day shoveling coal! I've never left this room!”

Pinkie rolled her eyes while Slate asked, “Never? Not even to go to the bathroom?”

“I… uh… haven’t needed to go yet. I’d really like to get to the next stop so I can take a break.”

Slate took a step towards the engineer, but Pinkie clamped down on his tail and bounced away. “We gotta git the med kit,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’sh not the killer anyway.”

“B-but,” Slate stammered. He dug his hooves into the floor, but it did nothing to slow Pinkie down as she dragged him by the tail, back down the train. “HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!”

~~~~~

The group returned to the employees' sleeping car, where Whistle Stop hadn't moved. If his chest hadn't risen with each shallow breath, Pinkie might have thought him dead already. The group returned, Pinkie holding the medical kit in her mouth. The entire group had to troop back to the storage car to find it. Hopefully, it would have what they needed to cure Whistle Stop.

Pinkie dug into the kit. “Wow, this is a super-duper good one! It’s got all kinds of chemicals. Let’s see…” Pinkie pulled out bottle after bottle of clear liquids with labels that most ponies couldn't read, much less pronounce. She selected a half-dozen, and snatched an empty glass sitting on the rim of the sink. She poured a mixture of chemicals into the glass and swirled it around. She wafted the resulting vapors into her nose and nodded with a small smile.

“Um, do you know what you’re doing? Are you sure you’re not going to kill him?” Ol’ Bitty asked.

“Oh yeah, I've got lots of experience with first aid. You’d be surprised how fast a shattered leg can ruin a party, or how much a little extra in the punch can help—” Pinkie blushed and quickly looked for another bottle.

Tiny raised one brow and asked, “What, exactly, do you put into punch to help get a party going?”

Pinkie swallowed as she plunged a syringe needle into the bottle through the cork. “Sugar. I hope this helps Whistle Stop, because if I’m right, that means he was poisoned, and I know exactly with what.”

“Oh, um, and what if you’re wrong?” Ol’ Bitty asked.

“Then he might die,” Pinkie replied. She swiftly stood, and stuck Whistle Stop with the needle.

“Holy…! Wh-what if you’re wrong?” Ignis asked.

Pinkie smiled as she turned her head to Ignis. Somehow, she had the hat, mustache, and pipe again. “I don’t think I am. I've got PROOF!”

“You do?” Hot Shot asked with crossed eyes. “How? What? Where? WHO?”

Whistle Stop gasped and his eyes fluttered open. “Oh, I don’t feel so good. What happened?”

Pinkie nodded with a huge grin. “Somepony slipped you diazepam instead of your nitroglycerin. But I got you some from the med kit. You should be okay now, but I’d lie down anyway.”

Whistle Stop yawned and replied, “Yeah, I feel so sleepy. Uh… diaza-what?”

“Don’t worry about it, Whistle Stop. I know you didn't really like Felix because he made you late, but is that really a reason to kill him?”

Whistle Stop looked dead-tired, but he still managed to reply, “I didn't kill him. I swear.”

“I know,” Pinkie chirped. “Making you late? That’s a weak motive. Plus, if you did it, why would you drug yourself? No, the guilty party drugged you.”

Slate stomped a hoof. “How? When? Why?”

Pinkie took up another syringe and filled it with the mixture in the glass. “THIS will reveal the meanie-mcmeanie-pants!”

Hot Shot tilted his head. “Heart medicine? How is that—”

“Oh this isn't nitroglycerin,” Pinkie chirped while bouncing up and down. “This is luminol; it reveals trace amounts of blood and other stuff. For today, we need it to find a little blood.”

Several ponies gasped. Slate stared, wide-eyed, at the syringe. “If you could have done that earlier, why didn't you?”

Pinkie adjusted her mustache and replied, “Because I only have one dose, and I needed to know who to test.”

Everypony froze, staring at Pinkie.

“And the guilty pony is…”

Author's Note

I hope you're enjoying the story so far, because...

There are THREE endings!

The next three chapters follow this chapter, "End of the Line." If your theory doesn't match the next chapter, don't worry. You have two more chances!

It could have happened LIKE THIS!

Pinkie Pie whirled on Ol’ Bitty, pointing the syringe like a sword with a tuft of her dexterous mane. “So, grandma, thought you could get away with it?”

Bitty backed away from the syringe, like it was filled with acid. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything wrong!” she said with a sweet, creaky voice. “I’m just a poor, old, homeless mare.”

“Uh huh, sure you are. Homeless because Felix and his company tricked you out of your home. You've been trying to talk to him for months, but he wouldn't give you the time of day. Why would he? He’s got your house, what does he need you for? But you… you couldn't let it go.”

“Hang on a second, how do you know she done it?” Slate asked, while pointing a hoof at Bitty. “She’s an old dame, are you sure she coulda killed Felix?”

“It’s elemental, my dear Slate,” Pinkie said, while stroking her fake mustache with one hoof. “It’s by process of elimination.” The rest of the ponies in the car nodded.

“How do yous figure that?” Slate asked.

Pinkie slowly advanced on Bitty, while she explained, “First off, I know Ignis and Hot Shot aren't guilty. Just big fat liars.”

“HEY!” Hot Shot exclaimed. “We’re not liars!”

Pinkie blew a raspberry. “Give it up, Hot Shot. I know you’re her private-private.”

Slate rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah, I think we all knows that.”

Pinkie shook her head. “Not like that. He’s a private detective. Ignis hired him to get dirt on Felix, in order to save her father’s company. They’re not really engaged or anything. That’s just a cover story so Ignis has an excuse to stick around.”

Ignis hung her head. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Shot. It’s all my fault. If I were a better actor…”

“Nonsense, Miss Lignum. You did an exemplary job. Things just got a little out of hoof when Felix got killed. If only we could find some evidence, maybe trace the money for the bearer bond?” Hot Shot smirked at Pinkie. He pulled out a fedora and put it on his head. Then he popped a toothpick into his mouth. “I guess there ain't no sense in acting anymore. Course, I’m not gonna quit ‘til we find some proof that Felix is a lying cheat. How’d you know?” Hot Shot tilted his head at Pinkie.

“Easy: you two kept acting like you were doing the horizontal tango, but you aren't smelly or sweaty,” Pinkie explained. “You two never quit; you overplayed your hoof. I suspected something was going on, so when I checked your mattress, I saw the sheets were rumpled, but there wasn't any sweat soaking them. Plus, I found the pictures you took of Felix at the train station. You were spying on him. It probably would've worked, too, if he wasn't murdered. And bonus for you: that means you have a motive to keep him alive. It’s tough to find out what Felix was doing if he’s dead.”

Slate stared at Hot Shot, mouth agape. “So, what about the rest of them?” he asked.

Pinkie continued, “So that eliminates Ignis and Hot Shot. I know Whistle Stop didn't do it; like I said, his motive is the weakest. And most importantly: he really was poisoned. Why would he poison himself if he were the killer? I checked his heart rate, and he wasn't faking it.” Pinkie took another step toward Bitty, who backpedaled away, while she continued her explanation. “The engineer didn't do it, either. He was in the engine room the whole trip, except when he came in here to have a smoke. Tiny couldn't have done it. She’s too short to have caused the wounds on the body. If she were the killer, the blows would be from an upward angle.”

“HEY are you calling me— uh, yeah. I’m too short…” Tiny sighed, then blushed. “Heh, I never thought being short would work in my favor.”

Slate glanced into the corner of the room, and saw a pair of cigarette butts snuffed in the corner. “Smokes…?”

“Yepperooni, so that leaves Ol’ Bitty. You’re a big-fat-liar, too!”

Ol’ Bitty looked to be on the verge of tears. “I am not a liar! Why won’t you take pity on a poor, old, homeless mare?”

Slate tilted his head. “Uh, aren't you forgetting…?”

“Psshhh. Homeless? Yeah. Poor? Well, you’re not rolling in bits, but plenty of other ponies have it worse. Old? Only as old as you think you are. And you don’t think of yourself as OLD!” she shouted, then quickly snatched away Ol’ Bitty’s cane with a snap of her jaws. She spat the cane away, which clattered on the floor behind her. “See? You’re not a weak, old mare. You just like the pity; it puts ponies off guard.”

Ol’ Bitty’s eyes narrowed at Pinkie. “So what if I like it when ponies treat me well? Without that cane, most ponies treat me like dirt! Just look at Felix, he stole my home!” Her voice held none of the warmth it had before. Now she was screeching like a banshee.

“I know, an excellent motive. All you had to do was get the wrench, hide it somewhere in the dining car, flick off the lights, brain Felix with the wrench, then drag his body here. Of course, you had to bribe the engineer with the bond, because he was smoking in here, and would have seen you.” Pinkie blew a few bubbles on her pipe. “It’s probably a good thing the engineer didn't smoke near all that coal. I like not being on a flaming train.”

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Slate hollered. “You mean the engineer has the dough?”

“I’m almost sure of it. Why else would he try to help the killer? Once the killer got rid of the body here, they returned to the dining car and waited for the lights to come back on. Of course, cleaning yourself in the sink here won’t get all of the blood off. Some of it probably splattered on the killer, which is why I’m using the luminol. This will prove who the killer is.” Pinkie advanced on Ol’ Bitty, who had backed into the wall, with nowhere left to run. “The jig is up!”

“Uh, what about—” Slate never finished. Pinkie squirted Ol’ Bitty with the luminol and flicked off the lights…

And nothing happened. There was a moment of complete, still, silence in the car. Slate flicked the lights back on, with one brow raised at Pinkie.

Pinkie didn't even blink. She whirled on Quiet Quill and yelled to Slate, “GET HER!”

Quill collapsed onto the ground and dug a small bottle of pills out of her saddle bag. She cried quietly when she popped a pill. “I-it’s t-too much. I-I-I need my medicine!”

“NO!” Pinkie cried, as she and Slate tackled Quiet Quill. Pinkie tore the pill bottle away. “Hold her! Sit on her if you have to!” She and Slate literally sat on Quiet Quill, pinning her down.

Slate looked over his shoulder at Pinkie, along with the rest of the group. With wide eyes, he asked what everypony was thinking. “You sure this quiet little thing is our killer?”

“Killer? Yep, she’s the only one left with a motive that I haven’t eliminated. Plus, she’s nuttier than a granola bar! Fruitier than a fruitcake! Crazy, with a capital K!”

“Let. Me. Up.” Quiet Quill said from under Slate and Pinkie. Her voice had changed. Not dramatically, but something in the tone. A gleam in her eyes made Slate grind his flank just a little harder into her back. “I said, let me up. Think you’re a big, strong stallion? I’ll CUT OFF YOUR—”

“Yeah yeah, I already said you were crazy.” Pinkie pulled out the diary again and began to read.

Slate looked a bit pale. “I've had some angry ex-marefriends, but this is the first time I believe she’d do it.”

“Oh, she’d slice you up and not even care. Or remember, for that matter.” Pinkie re-read a particular line in the diary, then asked Quiet Quill, “So, who am I talking to?”

Ignis scoffed. “And here I thought I hired the wrong detective. Don’t you remember? Her name is—”

“Razor Quill, and don’t you forget it! I’m going to cut that name into your flank, you dumb airhead!” Quiet Quill, or Razor Quill, said from under Pinkie’s tail. She struggled to stand, sending a flicker of fear through Slate. She was incredibly strong! If it weren't for Pinkie helping him, he wasn't sure Razor Quill would stay pinned down.

“H-how did you know there was another pony here with us? Or in her head, or whatever? Who is she? Razor Quill, or Quiet Quill?” Hot Shot asked.

Pinkie smiled. “Don’t blame yourself, Mr. Shot! There’s no way for you to know unless you read her diary. Here,” Pinkie said, as she hoofed the diary over. Razor Quill bucked, causing Pinkie to wobble, but she firmly pinned Razor in place.

Hot Shot took the dairy and read. His eyes went wide. “This is amazing! I've heard of split personalities, but I don’t think I've ever seen it in a real pony before! It’s so obvious now.” Ignis looked over Hot Shot’s shoulder, while Tiny used her magic to force the diary down a bit so she could read it.

“I don’t get it, Pinkie read this part already. It’s signed, Quiet Quill. What’s all this about split personalities?” Tiny asked.

Hot Shot chuckled, a grin splitting his face. “It isn't in the words, exactly. I mean, the prose changes, but maybe that’s just her ‘muse’ coming back. No, it’s the writing itself. Notice how the style changes completely at this paragraph? And then it changes back a bit later? Writing is like a hoofprint; it’s unique to everypony. A change like this can only happen if the writer is a different writer.”

“You got it, Hot Shot,” Pinkie chirped. “I’d say you’re a good detective.”

He chuckled back, “Yeah, even without a cane, Ol’ Bitty isn’t strong enough to commit this murder. I wouldn't have even suspected her, but you really wanted to make sure, didn't you?”

“Uh huh! Oh, um, say…” Pinkie’s hair deflated a bit. “I’m kinda stuck here ‘til the police arrive. Could you…?”

“Oh, sure thing!” Hot Shot turned and trotted forward.

“Where are we going?” Ignis asked.

Hot Shot put a hoof on the engine room door. “We’re going to get the bond back from the engineer. I don’t think he’ll put up a fight, but just in case, stay behind me.”

Ol’ Bitty stood over the trapped Razor Quill. “All of this, and for what?”

“Feldspar, of course!” Pinkie replied. “Oh, you mean why did she do it? Well—”

Razor Quill blew a lock of Pinkie’s tail hair out of her face and screamed, “I’ll kill every stallion in the world if it’s the last thing I do! Disgusting, filthy, philandering thieves! You think you’re tough, huh? You think—”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Pinkie interrupted, stuffing a rolled pair of socks in Razor’s mouth, silencing her. “I read the diary when I tasted it,” Pinkie said, while Bitty rolled her eyes. “Quiet Quill has a miserable life. In order to cope with it, this other personality came out.” Pinkie’s hair deflated, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “It’s really sad. Oh, when the police get here, can you tell them Quiet Quill needs to be placed in an asylum, not jail? She needs help.”

Ol’ Bitty’s jaw dropped. “She just murdered a pony!”

Pinkie shrugged and replied, “That doesn't change the fact that Quiet Quill will be punished along with Razor Quill. Quiet Quill didn't do anything, she just wanted to be left alone. How would you like it if you were punished for something you did while you were sleepwalking?”

Tiny backed away from the still-struggling Razor Quill, and nearly fell when the train rapidly slowed to a stop. “We’re safe!”

Flashing blue and red lights reflected off of the train windows. Several police ponies tromped on board the train and took the still-babbling Quill away. She kept switching between soft-spoken apologies to vicious, bloody threats, sometimes in the same sentence.

Hot Shot shoved the engineer out of the engine room. “Smart move, buddy. Lots of police stallions here, just co-operate with them. I believe your story, you should be okay.”

The engineer hung his head and stammered, “O-okay.” Hot Shot nodded to the police stallions, who slapped hoof cuffs on the engineer. “I swear, she made me do it! You don’t argue with a crazy mare covered in blood, you just take the junk she gives you and don’t cross her!”

“Didja find it?!” Slate asked, with barely contained excitement.

Hot Shot produced a gilt sheet of paper. “You mean this little note? It’s just got a bunch of zeros on it, I don’t know why everypony wants it…” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Gimme that!” Slate deadpanned as he swiped the note from Hot Shot. “I guess I should return to headquarters with the bond. Nothing more for me to do here.”

“Hold on for a second,” Pinkie said to the engineer, as he was being led away with hoof cuffs. “Do you have any feldspar?”

The engineer shrugged and replied, “Yeah. That crazy mare told me to keep the bond and this rock. She said paper beats rock, and the rock was going to destroy the world, so I had to keep the rock covered in the paper. How crazy is that?”

Pinkie laughed. “That’s silly, everypony knows feldspar won’t destroy the world. Only limestone can start armageddon. Now, hoof it over!”

The police stallions and the engineer went wide-eyed at Pinkie. “Better do as she asks,” Hot Shot commanded. The engineer produced the feldspar from his saddlebag and gave it to Pinkie.

~~~~~

“And that’s how I solved the mystery of the missing feldspar. Aren’t you proud of me, Daddy?” Pinkie sat at the old oak dining table, surrounded by her family. They looked on during her story with what could best be described as mild interest. Of course, with the Pie family, one could never truly tell.

Igneous Rock scratched his beard and replied, “Thank you, Pinkie. I’ve always enjoyed your silly stories. I could never make up something like that myself.” The rest of the Pie family nodded and ‘smiled.’ The smiles were only detectable with precision microscopes, but Pinkie noticed.

Pinkie wasn’t smiling. “But it’s all true! And I finished the rock collection! Aren’t you proud of me?”

Her father replied, “Of course I’m proud of you. I’m glad you remembered your fillyhood instruction. Feldspar is a common rock that can be found lying on the ground almost anywhere. I just like the way you talk about it, like it’s really special to you. It makes me happy.”

Pinkie’s eyes shifted left and right. “Heh, common rock, found on the ground. Of course…”

Author's Note

Not the way you expected the story to end?

No problem... the next chapter is another way the story could have ended.

Or it could have happened LIKE THIS!

Pinkie Pie whirled around to face Ignis and Hot Shot. They stood side by side, while Pinkie crouched and aimed the syringe, held in her rather dexterous tuft of mane. Pinkie advanced on them like a predatory cat, teeth bared. Although the effect was dampened by her pink coat and baby-blue eyes, Ignis and Hot Shot shied away from her anyway.

Ignis spoke first. “What are you doing? Why are you pointing that at me?”

Pinkie growled back, “You thought you two could get away with it? I guess it’s possible Hot Shot did it on his own, but really? REALLY? You didn't notice your special somepony killing Felix? Most likely you two did it together. I mean, YOU poisoned Whistle Stop,” Pinkie said, brandishing the syringe at Ignis.

Slate advanced on the duo, right behind Pinkie. “Are you sure they done it? I thought her daddy gots plenty of bits. Why steal the bond?”

Pinkie blew a raspberry, then popped the pipe into her mouth. “I suspect they needed a bribe.”

Tiny shook her head and clapped her hooves to her temples. “What? How…? How do you know all this?”

Pinkie took another step, backing Ignis and Hot Shot to the wall. Each of them shied into a different corner, too far apart to hit them both with the luminol. Pinkie blew a few bubbles on her pipe, with her eyes bouncing between the two of them. “I figured it out by a process of elimination. First, there’s Ol’ Bitty. She’s using a cane, and while I don’t think she actually needs it…” Ol’ Bitty blushed a bit and wrapped a hoof around her cane. “...she isn't physically strong enough to bash Felix over the head, drag him here, then return before the lights came back on.”

Bitty sighed. “Believe me, getting old ain't fer sissies!”

“Then there’s Tiny Tinsel. Her motive would be money. Of course, she didn't know about the bond until she got onboard the train. Even if she did somehow find out about the money beforehoof, she wouldn't have given it away as a bribe. It’s still possible that she committed the crime, and then had to bribe the engineer out of desperation, but she’s not the planning type, and this murder was pretty well-planned. The chances of her being the murderer are extremely low.”

“Um, thanks, I guess,” Tiny said with a flat brow.

“As for Quiet Quill, she has hemophobia. Did you notice how she stares at every bloody hoofprint? She wouldn't even get near poor Felix. She does have a motive, and the 1,000,000 bits would be tempting, but if she were to do it, she would use poison. Which she has…” Pinkie said, with a sly grin.

Slate perked his head and ears up, and stared at Quiet Quill. She shrank to the far end of the car, never looking at Felix’s remains. “She’s got poison?”

Pinkie chuckled and said, “Well, not exactly. Funny story, Quiet Quill is actually two ponies.” Every eye looked wide at Quill. “See her diary here?” Pinkie held the diary in her mouth and pointed to the middle of a page, in between two paragraphs. “Notice how not only the tone changes, but even the writing changes! That’s incredible! Most ponies can’t make a good forgery, and here Quill is, completely changing her penmareship right in the middle of her private diary. I strongly suspect she’s got a second personality in there,” Pinkie said, while she pointed at Quill’s head. “And the other one is the creative one. That’s why you've got writer's block— you’re not actually a writer!”

Quiet Quill’s eyes went wide, and she fell to her rump. Her mouth hung open, while she just blinked several times. Slowly, she looked at her own hoofs, then touched her own face, as if she were trying to make sure she was still in one piece. She ended up with three hooves on the ground and one forehoof covering her slack jaw. She stared at her own hooves, unfocused.

“Anyway, she’s got medication to regulate her sleep. It’s a common symptom when you have a second personality: you think you’re sleeping, but in reality, the other you is taking over. So you think you’re sleeping ten hours a day when you’re really only sleeping two. The diazepam she’s got is a good treatment for insomnia. It’s not such a great drug for treating a heart condition, though.” Pinkie said, glancing at Whistle Stop.

“You mean, somepony slipped Whistle Stop diaz-whatever instead of his nitroglycerin? Why?” Slate asked.

“To keep him out of the engine room. Knowing his personality, and his obsession with time, he would know if we were running late when he asked the engineer about it, and the engineer would have a hard time explaining our lateness because of his little smoke break.” Pinkie nodded to the corner of the room.

Slate did a double-take, and looked in the corner of the car to see a smashed cigarette butt. “Okay, so he took a break. What does that have to do with anything?”

“The engineer took a smoke break in here when the killer came in to deposit the body. They got desperate, looking for a place to stash it, when the engineer caught them. Or rather, he was in the right place at the right time. The murderer had to either kill him as well, or convince him to help. Since they had to get back to the dining car quickly, and had 1,000,000 bits they didn't know what to do with…” Pinkie’s smile showed pearly white teeth.

“You mean,” Slate said with awe, “the engineer has the bond?” He whirled around.

“Hold your horses there, buster!” Pinkie yelled at him. “Don’t leave yet; I might need your help. You see, since I eliminated everypony else with a motive, that leaves these two. To be honest, I’m not sure which one did it. I’ll bet they did it together. I think Hot Shot actually killed Felix. He seems to be the stronger of the two, and it took some real strength to kill Felix like that.”

Slate glared at Hot Shot and said, “The jig is up. You’re taking the fall for this one, featherhead!”

Hot Shot’s eyes darted between Pinkie and Ignis. Pinkie continued, “They didn't need the 1,000,000 bits, Ignis’ family has plenty. This wasn't about a little money, this was about a LOT of money. Billions of bits, not a measly million. That’s why Felix is still on the train, and not tossed off like a sack of mail. The murderer needed to make a statement to the rest of Felix’s company. So, once they bribed the engineer and disposed of the body, they snuck back into the dining car. Everything was going great, until Whistle Stop got too close to the engine room. It’s partly your fault, Slate. You kept asking about the engineer. It’s in the killer’s best interest if they never speak to each other, at least until we make our next stop. After that, they’ll be gone, and the engineer will cover their tracks.”

“I’m gonna have to talk to that guy once we’re done here,” Slate growled.

“Hey, 1,000,000 bits is worth a lot of cupcakes! He’s just a scared pony, so cut him some slack. Yeah, he took the bribe, but the other option was getting his skull caved in with a wrench. In that situation, I might have taken the bits too!”

“Yeah, but afterwards you’d help them good ponies, right?” Slate shot back.

“Right, but for now, he’s probably scared out of his wits. He knows who the killers are, and doesn't want to be anywhere near them. Anyway, that’s why Whistle Stop’s medication had to be switched, and a heart attack induced, to prevent him from getting into the engine room. Switching his meds when the lights went out was the easy part. Getting a heart attack on time is much harder, at least without shocking the victim. However…” Pinkie grinned like a shark at Ignis. “Making a pony have heartburn with a few extra spices added to their food and making them think they were having a heart attack? That’s a stroke of genius.”

Ignis’ face became pale. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You slipped some peppers into the salad and gave it to Whistle Stop. I’m sure having a heart attack was in the back of his mind, what with all the stress he was under. Then, when he felt heartburn? He actually DID have a mild heart attack! Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. After that, it was a simple matter to pick his pocket and switch his meds when the lights went out. It might have worked, too, if I hadn't noticed the way you've been lying this whole time.” Pinkie shot a glance between Hot Shot and Ignis. “So tell me, how guilty is she, Hot Shot?”

Hot Shot glared at Pinkie. “She’s not guilty at all. I’m not guilty, either. We've done nothing wrong!” he shouted.

“Liar-liar-pants-on-fire!” Pinkie sang. “And this will prove it!” she said, advancing on Ignis, the syringe held in a tuft of her mane. With a mid-air headbutt, she sank the plunger of the syringe and squirted Ignis with the chemical.

“NO!” Hot Shot yelled as he dove in front of Ignis like he was intercepting a crossbow bolt. The chemical splattered on his chest, hooves, and wings. He landed on the carpet with a dull thump.

He struggled to his hooves, but not before Pinkie took a stride to the door and put a hoof on the light switch. “Got anything you wanna tell me, before I hit the lights?” Pinkie asked, looking at Ignis.

“I-I-I…” Ignis sputtered, but said nothing more as Pinkie glanced at Slate. The rest of the group looked on with wide, unblinking eyes. “Leave him alone!” Ignis screamed, but too late. Pinkie hit the lights, plunging the car into darkness.

All except for Hot Shot. He was an inky black pony shape with glowing, green splotches, lots of them. Everywhere the luminol hit him, he glowed. “Get out of here, Ignis!” Hot Shot’s voice came from a spot just above the glowing green forehooves. “You’ll pay for this, Pinkie!” he said, as the green, glowing limbs darted forward to where Pinkie stood only a moment ago.

WHAM! Thunk.

The glowing limbs flopped onto the ground.

click

The lights came back on. Hot Shot lay splayed on the carpet. A hoof-shaped bruise appeared on his cheek, roughly the size and shape of Slate’s hoof. Slate had just flipped the light switch, and looked around, searching. “Where is she?” he asked Whistle Stop, the nearest pony, who shrugged in response. His eyes tracked around the car. None of the other ponies had moved. Ol’ Bitty sat stock-still, her mouth agape. Quill cowered behind Tiny, who stood near the opposite end of the car. He found Ignis and Pinkie on the far end of the car. “How did you get over there so fast? The lights were only off for a second!”

Ignis crouched, coiled like a spring, facing the door which would have let her jump off the train. A rather dangerous jump, but Pinkie stood in her way, blocking her exit. “Freeze, or I’ll blow you away!” Pinkie barked. She held a kazoo in her mouth.

Ignis raised one eyebrow. “You’re going to stop me with that little thing?”

“Don’t make me use my party kazoo!” Pinkie replied. “It’s got double the power of my party cannon, and even I don’t know what kind of party it’ll make! It’s only for emergency I-need-a-party-right-now-and-I-don’t-care-what-kind-of-party parties. Do you have any idea what kind of horrors could be unleashed? Don’t do it, Ignis!”

Ignis smirked. “I’m not going to get railroaded by a crazy pinko and some muscle-bound freak. Get out of my way!” she said, then took a step forward.

~~~~~

The call came in, but they could hardly believe it. A murderer? Hoof-delivered to them by train? A murder was an exceedingly rare event in Equestria, much less the guilty party being caught and hoof-delivered at high speed. It didn't get any less strange when the train screamed to a halt and the doors opened. A group of ponies staggered out of the last car. Every single one swayed on their hooves, like they had repeatedly been hit with blunt objects over the head. Or drank immense quantities of hard cider.

“What’s the matter with them?” Detective Magnifying Glass asked. “Hey! Stop where you are! Who’s the victim? What happened to you all? Where’s Pinkie Pie?” At the mention of her name, Pinkie burst out of the detective’s trench coat. Which was particularly impressive, given that his coat had no pockets on the inside. “What the—?!”

Pinkie bounced, a spring in her step, and her head bouncing like a bobble-head. “W-w-w-w-w-wow! I haven’t had a party like that for awhile!”

“Party…?” Magnifying Glass asked.

“No…” Ignis mumbled. “P-please no. No more…”

Hot Shot stumbled out behind her, swaying dangerously. “G-huh, get away, Ignis…” he stumbled and fell. “It’s too much…” His hooves and wings glowed faintly in the night, especially when flashlights weren't being shined on him.

“Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that one! T-t-t-t-t-t-t-ake him down!” Pinkie said, like a broken record, as she pointed at Hot Shot.

“Wh-what?” Magnifying Glass asked. He shook his head, then pointed at Hot Shot and commanded, “arrest him!” The police stallions quickly obeyed. “What’s wrong with your voice?” he asked Pinkie.

“Heh-heh-heh,” Pinkie giggled. “As it turns out, DJ-PON3 isn't the only one with some good wubs! I just got a little carried away.”

“N-no. No more…” Tiny mumbled, her eyes rolling in opposite directions. “No more wubs, please.”

“The wubs might have been a bit fast, and loud,” Pinkie explained. “I don’t think these ponies can handle a party of that magnitude.” She whispered into Magnifying Glass’ ear for a few moments. He nodded.

“YOU!” he barked, pointing at Hot Shot. “You’re under arrest for murder. I’ll have you hanged for this!”

Most of the ponies still had flashing lights in their eyes and wubs filling their ears, but at the mention of hanging, Ignis’ eyes went wide. “Wh-what? Equestria doesn’t have capital punishment except within the royal court! We’re not in Canterlot!” she cried.

“Correct. However…” Magnifying Glass grinned like a shark, and continued, “...Royal jurisdiction applies here, since you were on a train. Because there’s no way for us to tell exactly where you were and which county has jurisdiction at the time, all crimes committed on a train go right to Canterlot. Since this one occurred at night, that means Princess Luna will be the judge.” His grin grew wider. “I believe she isn’t quite up to speed with all of Equestria’s new rules. Doesn’t she still try to sentence ponies to death by being drawn and quartered?” Pinkie nodded with an overwide grin, while he continued, “I’ve never seen a pony get ripped apart by four royal guards running in opposite directions after being tied to a murderer’s limbs, but I hear it’s rather painful. Maybe I’ll get to see it in my lifetime…” he said, wistfully.

Ignis began to sweat profusely. “You can’t! He’s… he’s innocent!” She threw herself on top of Hot Shot, protecting him with her body. “D-don’t kill him! Please!” she begged.

“Why not? He killed Felix, didn’t he? All by himself, too. He did it all for you! What a guy, but we can’t let a stallion like that wander around. What if a balloon bumped you at a party? Then he’d have to murder that innocent balloon, and that might ruin a party! The horror…” Pinkie’s mane and tail went flat. “Could you even imagine it?”

“Take him away!” Magnifying Glass commanded.

“NO! I put him up to it! ME! Put me on trial!” she cried. She sobbed, and held onto Hot Shot. She blubbered, “I’m so sorry, Hots. I’ll save you, I promise!”

“Got her,” Pinkie said with a nod.

“Arrest her, too,” Magnifying Glass commanded, then nodded at Pinkie with a smirk. “An excellent ruse, Miss Pie. Looks like we've got this all wrapped up with a neat bow.”

“Wh-what?” Ignis looked up, tears draining out of her eyes. “You mean…?”

“Heh, yeah. Luna doesn't sentence ponies to death anymore.”

“We’re not quite done here,” Pinkie cut in. “The engineer at the front of the train still has the bond. I think he’s just scared, so go easy on him.” Pinkie bounced behind the detective as he trotted to the front of the train. The rest of the group was treated to hot chocolate milk and warm blankets while Hot Shot and Ignis were taken away. Pinkie bucked the door to the engine room open. “Surprise!”

“AHHHH DON’T KILL ME!” The engineer cowered on the floor, holding his hooves over his head. After a moment of nothing, he cracked an eye open and looked up. “A-are they gone?”

“Hot Shot and Ignis are under arrest. You can give me the valuable stuff now,” Pinkie said.

The engineer stood and, with a shaky hoof, gave Pinkie a bond worth 1,000,000 bits. Pinkie tilted her head, while Magnifying Glass swiped the bond from her after only a second. “You can’t have that! It’s evidence!”

Pinkie blew a raspberry. “I don’t want that! I want the feldspar you've got.”

The engineer looked at her, one eye twitching. “You said valuable… Nevermind, there’s a piece of feldspar that got tossed in with the coal. I found it while those two crazies hid the wrench in there.”

Indeed, gripped in the head of the wrench, under the pile of coal, was a chunk of feldspar. “Perfect! Mystery solved!” Pinkie exclaimed.

~~~~~

Pinkie wasn’t smiling. “But it’s all true! And I finished the rock collection! Aren’t you proud of me?”

Pinkie’s eyes shifted left and right. “Heh, common rock, found on the ground. Of course…”

Author's Note

Did all the clues add up for you?

No?

Well, this isn't the only way the story could end. Try the next chapter...

BUT IT REALLY HAPPENED LIKE THIS!

Pinkie pointed the syringe at… the bloody bed?

Everypony in the room looked at her and rolled their eyes. “Um, hey, Miss Detective?” Slate asked, but Pinkie stared at the body. “Hello? Crazy pink pony? HEY!” Pinkie ignored him, and grimly strode forward.

“I've never hung out with such a big group of lying liars in all my life! My friend Applejack would have to take a shower after being NEAR you ponies. How can you be happy if you keep lying to everypony you meet?” Pinkie tilted her head with a frown, glancing at every other pony in the room in turn.

“Huh? What are you talking about? I’m perfectly happy, and I’m not lying,” Ignis shot back.

“Puh-lease, you’re more scared than a blank-flank at a cuteciñera. You’re scared that your company is going to go under. You’re scared you and your family will end up in the poor house. You’re scared I’m going to pin the murders on you, and you’re even scared Hot Shot won’t be able to protect you! Now that Felix is dead, you’re scared you won’t be able to get any dirt on him.” Pinkie listed off Ignis’ fears, each one making her shake more and more. Wide-eyed, she hid behind Hot Shot. “I've got good news for you, though. You don’t have to act like a couple anymore. I've got this mystery solved.”

“Oh, thank the goddess,” Hot Shot sighed. “I couldn't keep that up for much longer. How did you know we weren't engaged?” he asked. “I thought we had everypony fooled.”

Pinkie blew a raspberry. “That was easy; when I checked your bunk, it wasn't sweaty. If you were doing the horizontal tango as much as you acted like you were, there would have been some sweat, and neither of you are tired. Plus, I found the pictures you were taking of Felix under your mattress. You've been following him for some time. So, you must be a private detective, right, Mr. Hot Shot?”

“Guilty as charged, honey. I've gotta say, I’m impressed with your detective skills. Mind if I take notes?” He put on a fedora and pulled out a pencil and notebook.

“Sure thing,” Pinkie replied. “Quick question: what’s your special talent?”

“Arson investigation. Why?”

“I was just curious what got you into the Private Eye business. I do it to track down dessert thieves, but I guess arson investigation is important, too.” Pinkie nodded and blew a bubble on her pipe. Hot Shot just looked at her and slowly shook his head.

“I’m not lying, what do I have to lie about?” Ol’ Bitty asked.

“You? I understand you lost your house, but that’s no excuse for you to lie about needing a cane. You've been carrying around that useless thing this whole trip. Why? I guess it makes ponies pity you, but is that really the reason?” Pinkie asked.

Ol’ Bitty looked surprised for a moment, her mouth open, but she quickly recovered and shook her head. Sweat beaded on her forehead when she replied, “I guess there’s no denying it. I did it for the insurance money.”

“Health insurance fraud? Why? To pay off your house?”

“No! To keep my house! I thought that I could use the cash to pay off Felix’s company and stay in my home. Please don’t tell anypony! I need the money just to eat!” Ol’ Bitty put on a show of looking old and feeble.

Pinkie smiled wide. “Don’t worry so much about it. After today, I think you’ll have a chance to get your house back. Felix can help you, I bet.”

Several ponies looked at Pinkie like she had grown a second head. Slate was the first to say, “Hey sweetcheeks, I don’t think HE can help anypony.” Slate pointed at the bloody remains in the bed.

Pinkie looked at Quiet Quill. “You’re right, he can’t help Quiet Quill. Or whichever pony I’m talking to.” Pinkie approached Quill the way you would approach a live bomb. “Are you Quiet Quill?” Pinkie asked. Quill nodded in reply. “Oh, that’s good. Don’t you worry, I’ve got a friend who would just love to study you. I bet she’ll help you, too. I Pinkie Pie Promise I’ll get you some help.”

Tiny scoffed and said, “What in Equestria are you talking about? She’s just quiet.”

Pinkie shook her head. She pulled out the diary one more time and flipped it open to the most recent entries. “See here? And here? And here? The mouth writing changes, and so does the tone. That’s almost impossible for a single pony to do, and there’s no reason to do it in a diary. Of course that,” Pinkie said, pointing to Quiet Quill, “isn't one pony, that’s two ponies. You see, she’s got multiple personalities.” Pinkie turned to face Quill directly. “The other one is the writer, by the way. You don’t have writer’s block, you’re just… not you.” She sighed at Quill, who sat on her rump, stunned. She just blinked several times, looking at her own forehooves. “Thanks for writing everything down! It helped me fill in a few blanks.” Pinkie gently patted Quill’s shoulder. “What you don’t know is somepony stole your medication and used it on Whistle Stop. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a refill in a jiffy.”

Slate blinked at Quiet Quill as if looking at her for the first time. “Wow, yous is one messed up pony.”

“Which leaves you, ya little liar!” Pinkie whirled, shouting at Tiny. Tossing the diary over her shoulder, it landed in front of Quill without ceremony. Pinkie advanced on Tiny, the syringe pointed down at the little unicorn. “Did you think you could get away with it?”

“G-get away with what?” Tiny took a step back.

“Well, poisoning Whistle Stop with Quill’s medication wasn't very nice. He’s a nice pony, really. He’s the only one here who is what he seems to be. Do you have his medication on you?” Pinkie asked. She didn't seem angry at Tiny Tinsel, but Tiny looked at Pinkie with a mixture of awe and terror.

“Yes,” she replied in a tiny voice. “I guess there’s no way to fool you. You know everything, don’t you?”

“Yepperooni, I've got it all figured out!” Pinkie said with a huge smile. “I don’t even need the luminol, that was just to prove it to the rest of you. I do have a really important question, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you help me?” Pinkie asked. Tiny swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa! You just said she poisoned Whistle Stop! Whaddya think yer doin’ there, doll?” Slate said good-naturedly. “Why don’t yous let me have a nice chat with our little friend there so I can find the bond? Then everypony can just go home and fuhget about dis.”

“Really? Why do you need to interrogate her? I know where the bond is,” Pinkie said calmly.

“You DO?!” Slate’s eyes went wide. “Well, why didn't ya say so?” He grinned. “Who has it?”

“Felix.”

Slate blinked several times. “Uh, what?” I don’t think I heard that right. Who has the bond?”

Pinkie glanced at Hot Shot. “You protect Ignis, okay?” He nodded back.

“HEY! I’m talkin’ to you! Does she have the bond?” Slate growled.

“No, I just told you, Felix has the bond,” Pinkie replied, turning back to face Slate.

“So the killer didn't take the bond?” Slate asked.

Pinkie shook her head. “That question isn't even wrong,” she said, as she puffed bubbles on her pipe again. “I guess you’re not so wise, are ya, wiseguy?” Pinkie’s baby-blue eyes locked onto Slate.

“I don’t like yer tone, dollface. Tell me where the scratch is. Now.” Slate’s stance got lower, and his voice dropped another octave. His muscles rippled under his coat like a spring, coiled and ready to strike.

“Like I said, Felix has it. By the way, he’s behind you, in the engine compartment,” Pinkie said conversationally, like she was reporting the weather.

Slate whirled and howled a war cry. “YOU’RE DEAD, YOU HEAR ME? YOU’RE DEAD!” He bucked the door open, the metal squealing in protest. In a single strike, the door cracked open, swinging on its now-bent hinges. Slate charged into the engine compartment.

Inside, he found the engineer, holding his hooves in front of him like a shield. “Don’t kill me!” he begged in Felix’s voice. Another pony stood flat-hooved just beside him. He wore a similar outfit, but his was scuffed with coal dust smudges everywhere. Slate charged by him, clipping him as he went. This other pony spun and slammed his head into the wall, collapsing into a heap, unmoving.

“Burn, you bucking traitor!” Slate put both forehooves on Felix’s lapel and pushed him towards the furnace. Felix’s hooves ground sparks into the metal floor as he tried to resist, but Slate’s monstrous strength could not be denied.

Thunk thud crack!

Slate grunted and let go of Felix. Three chunks of coal bounced off the ground. Slate whirled around and found Tiny Tinsel, with more hunks of coal floating near her head in her aura. He smirked and said, “Bring it on, short stack.”

Tiny ground her teeth and flung the rest of the coal right at Slate’s head. With a lazy flick of his hoof, Slate knocked them out of the air. They turned to powder before they hit the ground. “Crushing rocks is my special talent, shorty. Breaking you will be easy.” He advanced on Tiny, whose eyes went wide.

She flung coal at him as fast as she could; it was the only thing readily available in the engine compartment. With each stride, he intercepted more coal out of the air with thoughtless ease. Tiny grit her teeth harder and harder as he got closer, firing off more and more coal. By the time Slate towered over her, coal dust was everywhere on the floor. Looking up at this monster of muscle, Tiny squeaked, “Help!”

“Perfect position!” Pinkie’s voice came out of the pile of coal.

“How did you get in there?” Slate growled as he stuck a hoof into the pile of coal. After a second of searching, he pulled up Pinkie by a tuft of her mane. He grinned wide, a toothy smile designed to show teeth, not joy. “Any last words, gumshoe?”

“Party cannon,” Pinkie replied, without pause. It was quite a good retort, however, because the second she said it, her party cannon fired directly out from under the pile of coal and into Slate’s chin. He flew into the opposite wall with enough force to dent it. He bounced off of it with a metallic clang and fell forward onto his face.

Tiny, sweating and breathing hard, fell to her rump. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Wow, he’s got a hard head. I’m a little surprised that didn't kill him. Those weren't streamers in there, it was filled with coal this time.” Pinkie shook off the coal she was half-buried in to reveal the party cannon she sat on. She hopped off and bounced to Felix. He cowered at the foot of the furnace. “C'mon, scaredy cat. He’s out cold. We’ll tie him up if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Y-you got him!” Felix cried, a wild grin breaking out on his face. “You got him! Please, PLEASE don’t tell anypony I’m alive. I’m begging you!” Felix pleaded, with his forehooves together, like he was praying.

“Sorry, Felix. I've already let the cat out of the bag. I think we can work something out, so long as you help a few ponies. Deal?”

Felix looked like he would weep. “Another deal... Okay, not like I have much of a choice.”

Pinkie, followed by Tiny and a soot-stained Felix in an engineer’s outfit, trotted back to the rest of the group. Hot Shot whistled, then smiled. “Damn fine work! So… uh…”

“Wanna know what’s going on?” Pinkie asked with a smirk.

“YES!” Everypony exclaimed.

Pinkie giggled and pulled out her pipe, hat, and mustache. She blew a few bubbles and began: “It all started way back on the train platform. Felix here didn't look so hot after coming out of the restroom. It’s okay, Felix. You don’t have to hide the injuries anymore.”

Felix visibly relaxed and peeled off the overalls. Several ponies winced. He was covered in hoof-shaped bruises, all of them about the size of Slate’s hoof. “Please don’t touch me, even fabric hurts,” he said with a creaky voice.

Pinkie nodded. “You see, Slate works for Moonlight Mortar. Whenever a building made by Moonlight is torn down, there’s a tendency for pony skeletons to be found inside the walls. Of course, the police have never been able to pin the blame on anypony at the company, but I suspect they’re a front for a not-so-nice group of ponies. The Nostro Cavallo, right?” Pinkie asked, as she turned to Felix. He nodded in response. “Thought so. Anyway, Felix here is a super-lucky real estate broker. Whatever he buys turns out to be a good deal. Land he buys always seems to have gems or gold in it. Cheap houses he purchases always end up being in areas that shortly have a population explosion. Correct me at any time if I get something wrong, Felix,” Pinkie said as she blew another bubble.

“Nope,” he chuckled. “You’re right on the money so far.”

“At some point, those ponies noticed your talent, and asked or forced you to work for them. Probably forced. They were already in the construction business, and they've got lots of dirty money they need to launder. What better way to do that, than to buy some real estate and flip it for a profit? I’ll bet it went great for a little while, but then they wanted more. They didn't care how you got the property, or where. And you wanted out, because maybe you saw or heard something you shouldn't have?” Pinkie tilted her head at Felix.

Felix gulped, and said in a low voice. “I know where the body of Jimmy Hoofa is.”

Every other pony’s mouth dropped open, even Pinkie’s. Her pipe hit the floor. “Okay, wow. I guess that’s a good reason to send Slate with you.” Pinkie picked up the pipe again. “Slate wasn't here to be Felix’s bodyguard. His job was to watch him, and bump him off if he tried to cross his employers.” Pinkie nodded to Ol’ Bitty and Ignis. “You two already know Felix, but I’ll bet you didn't know he was being forced to cheat you. You can help these ponies, right?” Pinkie asked, as she turned to Felix again.

Felix cleared his throat. “Uh, I think so. I can free up the lawsuit with Ignis.” Ignis smiled and nodded at him. “Um, who are you?” Felix asked, looking at Ol’ Bitty.

She glared at him. “You cheated me out of my home! Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, the reverse mortgage scam. We took hundreds of homes with that one. I’m sorry if I don’t remember you in particular, but yeah, I can help you. You’ll help me, right, Miss Detective?” Felix looked at Pinkie with the best pair of puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

“Of course I will! I've got friends in high places. Trust me, I’ll get you taken care of. It’s a Pinkie Promise. Anyway, once we got on the train, I noticed the way you were acting, especially around Tiny. I had to put it all together with the clues I found on the train. You faked your death to get away from Slate.” Pinkie blew another bubble and smiled.

“That’s right!” Felix exclaimed.

“How did you know?” Tiny asked.

“You gave it away,” Pinkie said to Tiny. “I asked myself: how could the murderer kill Felix, drag his body all the way to this car, and get back in the time it took for the lights to come back on? All without anypony noticing? Yeah, I didn't buy that. So I started to work with other theories. Like, maybe Felix wasn't dead, he was just hurt, and the blood we were following was being left by him. But that wasn't quite right either, and I put it all together when I found that,” Pinkie said, as she pointed to the grisly bed.

“Wh-who is that?” Ol’ Bitty asked with a quaver.

“Nopony,” Pinkie replied. “It’s a fake. See?” she squirted the luminol onto the bed and flicked the lights off. Nothing happened, and Pinkie turned the lights back on after only a moment. “It’s red hoof polish. It has an aroma if you get close to it. It isn’t so easy to smell once it’s dry, but with this much, you can still smell it if you get close. And who has hoof polish?” Pinkie asked with a flourish.

“Tiny Tinsel,” Hot Shot said, scribbling another note into his notebook.

“Bingo! You win a prize!” Pinkie said, as she stuffed a kazoo in his mouth. “Don’t blow on that unless you like wubs.” Pinkie cleared her throat and continued, “If you all remember, Tiny is a traveling salesmare. She’s got lots of makeup and mane spray and hoof polish. What you might not know is that she used to work in cinema, as a makeup artist. Making a fake body would be easy. All you needed was a few pillows, sheets, and some makeup, and there you go! A fake murder scene! Just so long as Slate didn't touch it.”

“How did you know she used to be a makeup artist?” Hot Shot asked.

Tiny blushed. “I've been brushing up my resume; it’s in my bunk.”

Pinkie nodded with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. “Yeah, your boss isn't too happy with you. Sales are down, and you might get fired. Of course, an extra half a million bits would help. Or were you not planning to split it fifty-fifty with the real engineer?”

“Sixty-forty, actually. I’m doing most of the work,” Tiny replied with a smile.

“Oh,” Pinkie said, as her hair deflated. “I’m really sorry, but that bond is evidence. I don’t think you’ll be able to keep it.”

Tiny’s ears flattened. “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said with a deflated voice.

“You know, Felix is going to need a disguise to keep him safe while the court case goes on against Slate. And he’s going to need a new identity once it’s over. Think you can help him with that?” Pinkie asked.

Tiny’s eyes shone with tears. “Of course I can. Do you think there’s some honest bits to be made there?”

Pinkie puffed on her pipe. “I don’t see why not. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah! Tiny slipped past Whistle Stop with a few supplies and made the fake body here. The engineer must have come in at some point to smoke, and saw what was going on. I’m sure it led to a few questions you couldn't answer, but then you had an idea. Felix needed a place to hide, and the engineer was the right size. Plus, he has a perfect excuse to hide in the engine compartment until the next stop. Then, he just sneaks off, switches his clothes, and Slate is none the wiser. Slate would continue on the train, and you would have a chance to really disappear. Or at least, that was the plan. Sorry,” Pinkie said, shrugging.

Felix shook his head with a smile. “It’s okay. Things seem to be going my way. They always do, eventually,” he said, with a backwards glance to his cutie mark.

“So, Tiny promised to split the bond with the engineer if he agreed to help hide Felix. And it worked pretty well, too. How did you manage to have two meetings with Slate hovering around?” Pinkie asked.

Felix grinned sheepishly. “Actually, that wasn't too hard. Slate didn't stick to me too closely once we got on the train and we were moving. What was I going to do? Jump off a speeding train? All we had to do was meet up in the luggage car and act like we were going through our luggage. Quiet Quill came through once, but other than that, we managed to have a couple of conversations easily enough.”

“You’re a great actress to keep this up the whole time. So, calling you short doesn't even make you angry?” Pinkie asked Tiny.

“HEY!” She shouted back.

“Oops. Okay, sorry. Anyway, the two of you executed the plan once the lights went out during dinner. Felix made the sound effects, and Tiny left the trail of ‘bloody hoof prints.’ You went into the engine compartment, said hello to the engineer, put on a spare set of his clothes, and took his place. He hid under the pile of coal when we came in the first time. Was that part of the plan, too?” Pinkie asked.

Felix smiled sheepishly. “No, that was sheer panic.”

Pinkie giggled. “Welp, I think that about covers it. The rest you know, cause you were there.” Pinkie sighed and blew a bubble on her pipe, staring out the window.

“Something wrong, Miss Detective?” Hot Shot asked.

“Nothing, I just…” she sighed again. “Nothing.”

It wasn't long before they stopped, safely, with the real engineer at the helm. The police were quickly summoned, and Slate was hog-tied, cuffed, shackled, and magically restrained for good measure. He woke up after Felix and Tiny were taken away by the royal guards. They were interested in a number of things Felix had to tell them. Slate blinked a bleary set of eyes and saw the world without his freedom. He could hardly move. With the assistance of two police officers, he stood. “No…” he said miserably.

Pinkie babbled to a detective, while the rest of the group sat nearby on benches, drinking hot chocolate, wrapped in blankets. Slate could hear her, that happy-hyper voice of the pink detective. “I still don’t know where the feldspar went. It’s driving me crazy!”

“YOU—” Slate hollered. “I’ll get you, you dumb mare! Just you wait, I’ll get out of prison and you’ll pay for what you've done!”

Pinkie turned and bounced to him, a smile stretched across her face. It made him furious. “I've just got one question for you… Do you have any feldspar?”

“AHHH— IT’S JUST A COMMON ROCK!” Slate screamed, his mouth frothing with rage. Rocks were his specialty; he came from a family of rock farmers. This mare said she was also a rock farmer, but he didn't believe it. It must have been a trick. She possessed some kind of genius, she had to in order to—

“I found it!” Pinkie triumphantly picked a chunk of feldspar out of Slate’s luggage. “I knew the guilty party had it! Mystery solved!”

~~~~~

“And that’s how I solved the mystery of the missing feldspar. Aren't you proud of me, Daddy?” Pinkie sat at the old oak dining table, surrounded by her family. They looked on during her story with what could best be described as mild interest. Of course, with the Pie family, one could never truly tell.

Igneous Rock scratched his beard and replied, “Thank you, Pinkie. I've always enjoyed your silly stories. I could never make up something like that myself.” The rest of the Pie family nodded and ‘smiled.’ The smiles were only detectable with precision microscopes, but Pinkie noticed.

Pinkie wasn’t smiling. “But it’s all true! And I finished the rock collection! Aren't you proud of me?”

Pinkie’s eyes shifted left and right. “Heh, common rock, found on the ground. Of course…”

Author's Note

So this is how it really happened.

Really-really this time, I Pinkie Pie promise.

Unless you didn't like it, then it happened in one of those other two ways. :)