The Tip

     Soarin flipped through a baby blue photo album. He said "Ooh" on each page he flipped.

     "What are we looking at exactly?" Spitfire leaned against the marble countertop.

     "Pictures of Wildfire. Preferably at the beach." Soarin began to fantasize, "Just getting out of the water... completely soaked with her mane pressed against her head in a totally sexy way...  Or maybe in the middle of doing some yoga...." Soarin began to drool on the photo album.

     "Soarin!"

     "Oh, uh, right." He chuckled nervously as he wiped his mouth.

     Spitfire shook out her mane. A tick tack, a feather, three pens, a straw, and a box of pills scattered about the floor. She searched the area for one of the items. She grasped the pill box that fell underneath the overhanging countertop. She fumbled with it for a few seconds as she tried to pry it open.

     "What are those for?" Soarin asked as she finally opened the box with her mouth.

     "They're for-" she paused as a purple gumdrop tumbled out of her mane. It halted directly on her nose. She went crossed for a moment, the ignored it. "-anxiety."

     "Dude, when we go home today, you need to jump in the shower and clean that." Soarin circled his hoof around her mane.

     "Well, I need to have stuff handy when I need them."

     "It's called a saddlebag." he deadpanned.

     "I don't want to carry lumpy bags on me all the time. End of conversation."

     "Ok then, is it ethical to sample your own samples?" He implored as she popped a pill into her mouth.

     Before she could answer, a new voice pipped up.

     "Mr. Skies, the sketch artist is here to see you." It was the midnight colored mare from earlier. She came walking up from behind them and continued on her way without saying a word.

     "The sketch artist?"

     "Mhm. The chief requested it." She called over her shoulder.

     Soarin thought for a second. He glanced at the mare to his side.

     "I'll be right back." He turned and left through the passage that the midnight mare came through.

     "Oh yeah, that's nice." Soarin was leaning over a stallion who was sketching a familiar face. At least, to the residents of the home it was. The room was a dark purple hue. It lacked any windows, but it's open doorway let in plenty of light. That accompanied by the ceiling fan above them, made it a very bright room.

     "Yeah, the shading looks pretty good. Maybe just a little more by his ears... yep there ya go. Could you tilt an ear down, just to make him look more inquisitive?"

     Spitfire was searching the halls after Soarin's disappearance. She glanced in several rooms, bugged a few officers by asking where he was, and tripped over a bean bag. She listened for his voice to locate him. After a good few seconds of listening with no results. She went back to the bean bag that she tripped over. Her body plopped down into it.

Ugh, what happened to "be right back"? Seriously Soarin, you really need to keep true to your word. Well, I might as well get comfortable.

     Spitfire leaned back fully into the plush bean bag.  She sighed as her back muscles relaxed. She closed her eyes.

     However, that was short lived. A pony, like her before, tripped over the bean bag. They fell directly onto her. She grunted painfully as the pony situated itself. A eye cracked open to behold what was before her, Soarin sitting on her with a wide grin.

     "Hiya, Spitty!" He cocked his head to the left. "I was just about to look for you."

     Spitfire ignored his statement.

     "Can you get off me?" She squeaked.

     "Oh! Sure! Lemme just..." He pushed himself to his hooves, which were pressing down on Spitfire's stomach. Her face began to resemble a puffer fish. He quickly stepped off her. "There we go." He shook his entire body side-to-side, causing dust to drift over to the flattened mare.

And he said that I need to take a shower.

     She tried to roll over, but the bean bag's grip wouldn't give way. After trying a few more times, Soarin offered of hoof to help her up.

     "Hehe, sorry bout that."

     "Just-- never mind. Why were you looking for me?"

     "Oh yeah! Follow me." Soarin began to trot off down another bright hallway. Spitfire dizzily followed. After a good five minutes of walking, they arrived at the room Soarin was in earlier. He pointed at the sketch artist who was still editing the pony  depicted on the white sheet of paper. Spitfire was unmasked and poked him.

     "I need to ask you a question."

     Soarin, already knowing what she was going to say, answered her. "Just-- hang with me here."

     "Tell them your blocked or something." She urged.

     "I will need to use that later." Soarin turned away from his uneasy partner and took a few steps towards the sketch artist.

     "How are we doing over there?"

     The stallion levitated to pad into Soarin's face. He took a step back from it's close proximity to his muzzle.

     "Oh, that's nice. Look how good that is." He pointed to the picture behinds the sketch artist. "I like how his ear is tilted, like he is confused about something. As far as the mEn goes, it could be better. Make it a bit wispier on the right. Like he might be trying to compensate for a-- I don't know..." As Soarin continued rambling, a lilac mare was drawn to the room. She glanced at Soarin, whom she ignored, then looked at the picture in the sketch artist's magical grip. She shrieked loudly and threw a hoof to her mouth.

     "Oh my gosh! It's Skylar! Oh, it's Skylar!"

     Her cry attracted a few police officers to the room. They came in behind the older mare.

     "Oh, honey, come here! Skylar is the kidnapper!" Wildfire came up to her side, her expression a mix of alarm and confusion.

     "Uh, uh..." Soarin started. He nimbly weaved his way over to the other side of the sketch artist.

     "That's the exact cap I gave him." Wildfire eyes were the size of soccer balls.

     "Okay, everypony. Stop." Soarin closed his eyes he put a wing tip to his temple. He spread each of his legs away from his core. "Skylar... is not the kidnapper." Wildfire and the lilac mare breathed sighs of relief. "Okay, not the kidnapper. He is just so horrible pony."

     Wildfire snapped her attention back to the cornflower colored stallion.

     "Who is Skylar? I'm getting... many different mares. Is he a bigamist?" The police ponies went back to their former business. One in particular rolled her eyes at him.

     "Does he sell foals on the black market?"

     Wildfire looked horrified.

     "Would he, oh."

     "Astounding." The midnight mare directed them down a spiral staircase as she spewed sarcastic comments.

     "Please, we are just getting started."

     "Oh, I can't wait."

     "Since we're on the topic, I'm gonna need that case file. I will need all of these statements and all of the evidence." Soarin flicked her nose, which she growled at him.

     "Your a psychic. Why do you need it?"

     "I need the vibrations too."

     "From the paperwork?" She mused. They reached the bottom of the steps and rounded a corner into a bright, sunny room.

     "Look, detective... I don't pretend to understand exactly how the spirit world works, and I really don't think that you should know either." Soarin glanced at the folder tucked under her wing. He put on his best "cute" face. "I need that folder."

     "Go ahead, give him a copy of it." Another speaker voiced. Misty Fly walked down a hallway to join up with them. She stopped between the midnight mare and Soarin.

     "Thank you, Misty." She glared at him. All he did was bounce his eyebrows once and he left to the front door. The aggregation of ponies scattered away. Spitfire expeditiously ran to the double doors to catch up with him. Just as they both trotted out the doors, Soarin recognized an old stallion climbing up the steps. He was goldenrod in color, with an orange mane and tail.

     "Mr. Waters," Soarin halted and turned to the older stallion. "I'm Soarin Skies. The psychic." He held a hoof out to him.

     "Well, thank you for coming here. If there is anything I can do..."

     "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you, sir."

     "Nothing can prepare you for something if this caliber. Just knowing that you can't do anything is enough." He scrunched his face together a few times. "Call me if you have any questions." He turned around to go inside his home.

     "Uh, actually, I do have a question." Mr. Waters faced him again. Soarin put his left wing tip near the side of his head. Be cocked his head towards the old stallion. "How did he feel about... Fido?"

     "Who, the dog? He loved that damn thing. He wouldn't leave the house without him."

     Soarin stood, seemingly frozen for a few seconds. "Yeah, that will be all. Thanks."

     Mr. Waters nodded and closed the door behind him.

     Soarin hovered down the steps with the CD case in his mouth. Spitfire joined him.

     "Does he like his dog? That's how you investigate cases?" She questioned.

     "I thought that I made great progress today." Soarin said after he dropped the black case into his hooves.

     "Since we have been here, all you have done is root through their trash cans, hit on the victim's little sister, and falsely cause her coltfriend of being the kidnapper."

     "Spitty, he is not her coltfriend! She said that they are free to see other ponies if they wish to."

     "Whatever you say Soarin. Have a blast. I quit." Spitfire indignantly looked ahead of her. She surpassed Soarin.

     "You can't quit, we just started." Soarin pressed.

     "Watch me." She opened the back car door and tossed her case inside. She slammed the door shut. All the while, she kept eye contact with him.

     "Spitty, your gonna miss everything!"

     She held a flat expression as she steeped herself into the driver's seat.

     "Its gonna be fun!" Soarin shouted. Spitfire started the engine.

     "Spitty! Get back here!"

     She pulled the seatbelt over her and clicked it into place. She then backed out of the Water's driveway. Soarin watched as she did.

     "Fine." He huffed. " I will just solve this case all by my lonesome." He looked too his left. After noticing something, he hurriedly glanced between the departing Blueberry and it. After she was gone, he bolted for the gate that the gardener had went through. Taking a few swerved in his path, he made it to the gate. He silently unmatched it and cantered inside. He took no heed as he raced along the short trail leading into the backyard.

     The mansion's back yard had a 30 foot long pool and Palm trees around it. A few wooden patio chairs were situated around a table in the short grass. On tall poles, birdhouses rested. Bluebird sang as they fluttered around the area.

     Soarin took a brick path leading downwards to a single door. He looked in each of the two windows before approaching it. He jostled the knob, but it wouldn't open. He glanced back towards the top of the sloped walkway. Seeing nopony three he continued what he was doing.

     Soarin got a "bright" idea. He shoved is shoulder against the door. In response to his action, he yelped and rubbed it. Once again, he looked back up the pathway. Still, nopony was there.

     He tried again, this time with the knob turned. It worked for a few seconds that a shrieking alarm filled the air.

    "Dammit."

     Police galloped to his position. All of their guns were out in their hooks or auras, safety off.

     Thinking that it might actually do something, Soarin tried closing the door to see if the alarm would turn off. Nothing happened when he did. He tried again. Still nothing. He threw out his hooves in frustration. To his left, there was a clicking sound. He turned and saw Detective Rapidfire and the midnight colored mare. They slowly lowered their guns as they realised that it was him.

     A few other officers pointed their guns at him from over the guardrail. The Chief, Mr. Waters, and Wildfire joined them. Neither of them had weapons of any sort. Mr. Waters turned to Misty and they exchanged unspoken words. She looked back down to him slowly with her lips pressed together.

     Soarin, without any other ideas, simply waved at them. He gazed at the wall.

Well, whoops.