A Study in Blue

“And how have you been doing, Mr. Collar?”

“I haven't beaten anypony else to within an inch of their life so far,” was the stallion's wry reply, “so I guess that's progress,” at least the therapist was kind enough to smile at his little joke, “other than that...not well actually.”

“Oh?” Summer Breeze sat up a little straighter in her chair, the quill poised over her pad, “is everything all right?”

“Nothing's right,” the stallion sighed, “I've spent the last week trying to find something, anything, to distract me, and all it does is remind me of how much I miss doing what I used to.  If anything, I'm thinking about how things were even more often.”

“The fighting?”

“No, before that,” White Collar corrected, a frown tugging at his lips, “it hurts almost as bad though.”

“I saw in your file that you're a widower,” the unicorn mare prompted, “is that what you're referring to?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I'm supposed to, right?” the cowled stallion said with a wan smile, “that's how this whole thing works?”

“This isn't an exact science,” the unicorn cautioned, “it works differently for every pony, in different ways.  Granted, I've dealt with far more grieving spouses than returning veterans, so I feel I can probably offer you a little more help in this area if you need it.”

“It's okay to talk about this stuff, right?  The judge isn't going to mind that we aren't talking about the Frontier?”

“Everything we discuss is covered under patient privilege,” Summer Breeze assured the stallion, a serious expression on her face, “nopony but you and I ever hears a word that's said in here.  All I pass on to the judge is a small report with whether or not I believe you are making positive progress.”

“And am I?”

“It's only our second session, Mr. Collar.  I won't having anything remotely relevant to report until after our third or fourth,” she readied her pad again, “now you were saying about your wife?”

“Right,” the stallion leaned back on the couch as comfortably as he could, “it was her idea to start the investigating business.  I just liked noticing things, putting the pieces together into the story they told.  Meadow Lark was the one that figured we could monetize it.”

“You didn't want to be a private investigator?”

“I wouldn't put it like that,” White collar frowned slightly, “it's not that I didn't want to, per say.  I just...never saw a reason to.  I just did what I did because it was fun.”

“So how did you make your living?”

“I followed my mother around,” at the therapist's raised eyebrow, the stallion elaborated, “she works for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.  Her job is go around to all these different countries and talk with the other ministry types there to see what sort of tariff deals she can work out, and stuff like that.  She'd bring me along so that I could tell her about whoever she was about to talk to.

“I'd point out who was cheating on their spouse, so she could use little threats as leverage.  Or who going to try to cut an under-the-table deal with another country so she could get Equestria in on it.  Stuff like that.  I got to live an easy life hopping from one party to the next, and Mother became the doll of the Ministry who wrangled the sorts of treaties that nopony else could.

“Win-win.”

“So I take it you met your wife at one of these parties?” Summer Breeze deduced, indicating for her patient to go on with his story.

White Collar nodded, “A little gala in Jennyva.  Mother was there to see about setting up an annual fashion exposition between Equestria and Mulan.  Build some stronger cultural bonds or something like that.  Meadow Lark and a friend of hers were crashing the party, passing themselves off as Equestrian models displaying example ensembles for such an exposition.

“I caught them.”

“Hmm,” the therapist smiled slyly, “got them thrown out, did you?”

“No, nothing like that,” he shook his head, unable to help but smile a little too at the memory, “I just saw them for what they were: a couple of ponies looking to have a good time at a swank party they'd never get an invite to.

“You see, I can read ponies like most read a book.  You can learn a lot about somepony from such little things.  I'm good at noticing those things.  Meadow Lark was good at reading those things too, to a degree.  But where she shined was in her ability to mimic those ponies.”

“She copied them.”

“No, she copied their style,” the stallion corrected, “that pegasus could spend two minutes listening to somepony and then walk up to them and have that pony convinced they were from the same hometown and knew all the same ponies.  Heck, she could have you convinced she was a Bullgarian native!

“She tried that on me.  Didn't work.”

“She tried to convince you she was a minotaur?” the unicorn mare smirked, “I can't see how that failed.”

“No, she tried to convince me she was from the same town I was.  Trouble was that I'm not from any one town.  As much as I'd been traveling with Mother, there was no single culture that I'd really adopted,” White Collar reflected on the first conversation he'd had with the golden pegasus, and how awkward it had been as the mare suddenly found herself mixing slang that even she could instantly see shouldn't go together, “I think she was intrigued.  It kept her talking to me longer than she should have.

“It gave me time to correctly deduce that she was from Dodge Junction.  She hated that I knew so much about her, but she knew nothing about me.

“It got us to talking though.  One thing lead to another after that.”

“What brought the two of you to Trottingham?”

“It's where we took our honeymoon,” White Collar said simply, “My brother was working at a ski lodge nearby to pay his way through university.  He got us a good deal.  When the honeymoon was over we just...never left.  Neither of us really had anywhere special in mind that we wanted to go, so we set down roots here,” a frown darkened his features, “a year later I was conscripted.

“She died while I was away.”

“It must have been hard, getting that news while you were away like that.”

“That's just the thing,” White Collar said bitterly, “I didn't.  Apparently they'd been having trouble with the mail that whole time.  So many ponies away from their families at one time, the mailmares couldn't keep up.  Letters lagged behind.  They think that there was something like an average of a two month delay near the end.

“I found out about Meadow Lark when her parents came to visit me at the hospital in San Anponio,” the next words were saturated with vitriol and nearly spat out, “I got their letter telling me about her death a week later.  She'd been dead for three months by then.  Apparently, the letter had gotten held up at the regimental HQ when my battalion was wiped out.

“At least I found out why she hadn't come to see me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why?  It wasn't your fault.”

“That doesn't mean I can't empathize, Mr. Collar,” the mare pointed out.  Her pad was down now, and her amber eyes were locked on the stallion as she leaned forward, “you lost a lot in a very short period of time.  I won't pretend I know what that's like personally.  I don't.  But I have met many ponies that did, and they have sat on that same couch, and I have helped them, I promise you.

“The death of your wife, it wasn't the end of everything, even if it seems so.  It has been over nine months, and it's perfectly fine to still be hurting.  You will hurt forever, and that's okay.  Healing those sorts of scars isn't about removing the pain, it's about learning to carry on in spite of it.

“And that's what I want you to do, Mr. Collar.  I want you to carry on, and do exactly what you would be doing right now if Meadow Lark was alive.”

The stallion shook his head, “I don't know, it...it hurts, Doc.”

“I told you: it's alright to hurt.  But it's more important that you live.

“You said you enjoyed solving all those puzzles when you were investigating, right?” White Collar nodded, “then experience that joy again.  It was something you found fun before you even knew Meadow Lark.  She was not the key to that part of your life.  You will still be reminded of her by it, but I believe that it is more important that you do what has always brought you joy.”

The stallion seemed unconvinced at first, but he slowly nodded, “I see what you're saying, Doc.  I'm not convinced, but you're the expert.  So, I'll give it a shot.”

“Excellent!”

* * *

Taking down the 'closed' sign in the window had been easy.  Removing the sheets and exposing the entirety of the reception area for the first time in almost three years, that had been hard.  Especially Meadow Lark's old desk.  Seeing her little bronze name plate sitting there, and knowing that the she'd never need it again...Could he ever bring himself to hire somepony to fill the position?  Maybe someday, but certainly not any time soon.

Of course, he needed to do more than take down some little old sign to make it clear to passing ponies that he were open once more.  The little business had sat idle for years.  Ponies that passed by it frequently had trained themselves to hardly pay it any attention anymore and trotted on by without a second look.  The clients they'd once served regularly had found other investigators to handle their affairs.  Maybe White Collar could track them down and get them back if he really wanted to, but he wasn't certain how to handle such a conversation so that it wouldn't feel awkward.

“Hey, I'm the stallion that told you your husband was cheating on you that one time, remember?  Want to pay me to do it again?”

Ugh...Meadow Lark had always been the one that spoke to their clients.  She just had such a way with ponies...

The truth of the matter was that White Collar still wasn't feeling entirely comfortable with Doctor Summer Breeze's idea.  He'd never done this sort of thing on his own.  There had always been somepony else at hoof.  Before Meadow Lark, it had been his mother.  Somepony that he could solve the puzzle for.  Now it'd just be him, and that felt very weird.

Perhaps if he tracked down where his mother was right now, he could go back to helping her sniff out diplomatic intrigue?

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts.  There should have been no deliveries coming today.  A client?  Feeling just a little trepidation, White Collar donned his cowl and went to the door.  Jump in hooves first, solve the client's problem, and see if he felt any better about the whole idea, he supposed.

The stallion took a deep breath and opened the door.  He balked at the sight of the pony that had come to call on him.

The azure pegasus guardsmare was wearing her armor this time.  She was panting, out of breath.  At the sight of him, a look of the barest relief flashed across her features, but it was clear that she was upset about something.

“There's been another one, in Laurafauston Garden,” she gasped between breaths.  That was right, the Bazaar had indeed been yesterday.  A fourth accident, on the heels of the Bazaar.  Interesting.  White Collar glanced at the sun and noted the approximate time.  It coincided with what he recalled from the reports that the mare had brought by during her previous visit.  A pattern did clearly seem to exist which related the deaths to one another, but it was such an obscure connection...and with only that and no other clues, it would simply be impossible to come up with any viable solutions.

“This one's different,” the mare continued, “she left a note.”

Now that...was interesting.  A note?  The victim of a tragic accident left a 'note'?  This, White Collar had to see, “show me.”

* * *

A small crowd was still gathered at the scene, being kept back by a trio of armored guard ponies.  In the middle of the ring of ponies was the prone, striped, form of a zebra mare.  A pair of ponies were standing over the body, one of them brandishing a tombstone on their flank.  A coroner, perhaps, White Collar decided.  There was no sign of any other medical ponies nearby.  If treatment had been attempted, it had come of nothing.  The other pony was a gray unicorn stallion who wore no armor, but was still attired in the blue and gold uniform of a Trottingham guard, though with the addition of a purple sash.  A sergeant.  The pony in charge of the scene.

His pegasus escort lead White Collar to the perimeter.  She'd told him what she could of the scene on their way over, but it hadn't been much.  Apparently, there had not been much to tell, as all of her information was coming from the accounts of a few witnesses who hadn't really known what to make of what they'd seen either.  According to what the ponies had all reported, the zebra had stumbled into view in a bit of a panic.  She was fighting with the stopper of some bottle or other, mumbling about something being wrong.  She finally got the bottle open, drank the contents, and them promptly went into a fit on the ground.

She was dead in less than a minute.  No marks on her, nopony near her.  She had simply drunken the elixir she was carrying, collapses, and seized on the ground for a brief period.  Honestly, this case sounded very different from the others.  The timing not withstanding, it didn't appear at all that much like an accident.  Perhaps the scene itself would yield more clues.

The guardsmare's progress was unhindered as she passed the other ponies securing the scene, but White Collar found himself stopped by the outstretched hoof of one of them, “no civilians.”

“He's with me,” the pegasus insisted urgently, “he's a consultant.”

The other guard frowned, but lowered his hoof and allowed the white stallion to pass.  The brief commotion drew the attention of the sergeant however, who turned a critical eye to the pair, “a 'consultant'?  Sundancer, who authorized you to bring a consultant in on this?” the irate stallion stepped closer, his stern gaze jumping between the now apprehensive pegasus and the cowled earth pony with her.  His gaze narrowed slightly when he finally got a good look at the newcomer, “wait...I recognize you.  White Collar, isn't it?  You're a PI.”

The cowled pony nodded, “I am.  Miss...Sundancer here asked me to come a take a look at the scene.  She seems to think it may be related to some other incidents.”

The frown on the sergeant's face deepened and he favored the azure pony with a cold stare, “Oh, those. I see.  We'll have a talk about that later, guardsmare,” the pegasus winced.  To White Collar, he added with a sigh, “well, you may as well look around now that you're here.  I don't know about being connected to anything, but it is certainly a curious incident.”

“In what way?”  White Collar pressed, following the other stallion nearer to the body.

“Well, by all appearances, she poisoned herself,” the gray stallion stated, “which is odd, because that's not the sort of thing that most ponies do in public.  Suicides aren't that common, but when it's a mare doing it, they do tend to go the poison route.  But they do that in bed or sitting in a comfortable chair at home.  In public like this, that's odd.”

“Why do you think it was a suicide?” White Collar asked.  They'd reached the body now, and the white stallion looked down at the mare.  Her eyes were still open, staring off in shock.  She'd been foaming at the mouth when she died.  Her limbs were slightly contorted, and there were a myriad of grooves carved into the ground around her.  The zebra's hooves were badly scuffed as well.  She had indeed seized quite violently before dying.  Nearby, he spotted the bottle that witnesses had reported her drinking from.  He bent lower to look at it more closely.

“Seems pretty obvious,” the sergeant said, “she died right after drinking that stuff, whatever it is.  We can't read the label, probably some zebra language.  Who knows what sorts of things they mix up.”

White Collar poised a hoof over over the bottle and looked back up at the other pony, “may I?” he was given permission to disturb the scene.  Apparently, they'd felt that everything that could be learned from its disposition had been.  He rolled the bottle in order to get a better view of the label.  He grunted as he read the words upon it.  He then picked it up and sniffed at the opening.  A frown creased his features.  He upended the bottle onto the back of his hoof, splashing a couple of the remaining drops onto his coat, which he then lapped at with his tongue, prompting a terrified look from the other nearby ponies.

“What are you doing?!  That's poison!” the sergeant cried out in alarm.

“It's grape juice,” White Collar stated dryly, turning the bottle over in his hooves once more, to look at the label.

“Grape juice?” the sergeant echoed, his face contorting into a look of confusion, “how does grape juice kill somepony?”

“She probably has a grape allergy,” the white stallion ventured, “not her fault.  She thought this was Jennadryl.  Which is an allergy medication,” he tossed the bottle to the startled guard sergeant and went back to looking over the body once again.

“You can read zebra?”  this asked by the azure mare, Sundancer, who sounded a little impressed by the revelation.

“I can, yes,” White Collar replied without looking up from his examination, “but that's not zebra.  It's donkey.  My guess is that there's a small pharmacy run by a donkey in the direction this mare came from.”

“There is, yes,” the sergeant confirmed in a slightly bewildered tone as he looked over the bottle himself.  Then he shook his head, “wait, so you're saying this mare had an allergic reaction to an allergy medicine?”

“No,” White Collar corrected with a frown directed at the sergeant, “she had an allergic reaction to grape juice.  She just thought it was an allergy medicine.  That bottle was grossly mislabeled.”

“So,” this time it was the pegasus who spoke, “she was trying to treat her grape allergy?”

“Why would she?” the stallion asked with a pointed look, “she hadn't drunk any grape juice yet.  No, she was trying to treat some other allergy.  She thought she'd ingested...something that she was going to react badly to.  The question is, what...” his words trailed off as his eyes fell to the ground near the zebra mare's right foreleg.  There were gouges in the ground here too, but these seemed deeper and more orderly.  He drew his head back slightly to get a better look at the entire image.  A glyph.

He pointed at the spot on the ground, looking at the pegasus mare, “the message?”

“We think so, but none of us can read it,” Sundancer answered with a nod.

“Actually,” the sergeant interjected, a smug expression on his face, “I took a year of zebra in school,” he stepped over and pointed a hoof a the glyph etched into the ground, “it says, 'tart', but I think she wasn't finished.  If you put a couple more lines over here like this...you get, 'tartarus'.  She was apparently convinced that something in Tartarus wanted her dead,” he regarded the two of them with a satisfied expression.

White Collar frowned silently at the sergeant for a moment, “I'm sorry, what's your name?”

“Sergeant LeTrod,” the gray stallion said.

“Sergeant LeTrod,” the white earth pony echoed with a nod, “no.  I'm afraid that's wrong.  Zebras write their glyphs from the top to the bottom.  She wouldn't have skipped those lines if she'd died halfway through writing it.  She'd have skipped these,” White Collar pointed at the bottom of the etching, “she was writing, 'tart'.”

“Why wold her last message be a pastry?” Sundancer asked.

“I don't know,” White Collar admitted, his eyes looking over the scene once more.  A smile started to tug at the corner of his mouth, “but I can't wait to find out,” he regarded the sergeant once more, “you said that there was a donkey-run pharmacy just up the street?” the gray pony nodded, “I'm going to go pay him a visit.  I also want the names and addresses of the witnesses,” he then focused his gaze on the coroner pony who who thus far been watching the exchange with quiet interest, “you'll need to do a full autopsy on her.  Pay close attention to her stomach contents.  She thought she'd eaten something that didn't agree with her, and I want to know what it was.  Send a copy of the full report to my office.  The Guard has it on file.

“Come on, Miss Sundancer,” he glanced back at the pegasus mare, the smile broadening into a grin, “we have a suspect to question!”

He didn't wait for the mare to acknowledge his statement, the cowled stallion merely took off at a stiff gallop.  The guardsmare gaped for a few short seconds, then smiled sheepishly at her sergeant and the other gaping guards, “I should, uh, got keep an eye on him,” and then she fluttered off after the pony she'd brought onto the case.