The Tip

     Soarin examined the room. He saw Lightning laying lifelessly on the hardwood floor, with Dusk sitting on a nearby chair in a similar fashion. Dusk's right wing lied beside a cobalt black pistol.

     Soarin scanned the scene with an analytical eye. He noted that Dusk didn't have a feather on the trigger. He saw that a white China teacup was on the floor, intact.

     He peered out into the kitchen. A coffee pot rested on the stove top, with the side of it covered in dried, brown stain that trailed to the tile floor.

     Looking back to Dusk, he noticed that one of the table's edges had a thine layer of blood and small traces of hair. He met the gaze of the detectives in the room. Some raised an eyebrow, others wanted an explanation.

     "The department must call on you again, Mr. Skies. Even though this didn't turn out they way we wanted, the department thanks you for your services. You were invaluable." Misty Fly shook the hooves of the psychic duo.

     They were once again in her quaint little office. She sat down into the luxurious fabric of her rolling chair. Soarin and Spitfire took a seat on the less plush chairs on the other side of her desk.

     "This case isn't closed." Soarin interjected as he squirmed to find a comfortable position on the chair

     "Pardon me?" The Chief spoke.

     "Murder, suicide?" Soarin scoffed. "Come on, are you seriously buying that?"

     "I am not buying anything. I am stating the facts." She retorted.

     "I'll buy it." Spitfire stood up and flicked her tail at Soarin.

     "I get it. I really do. You want to shut the book on this case. ASAP. That's all fine and dandy." Soarin shot a glare at Spitfire. With an eye roll, she settled herself back down on the maroon chair.

     "What, do you think they had a falling out before they got their hooves on the ransom money? What would they possible have to fight about before they got a load of cash?" Soarin inquired. His inquiring slightly irritated Misty Fly.

     "I will remind you that you are not a detective."

     "All I need is to just speak with the witnesses again." Soarin leaned back onto the chair's back.

     "The Waters family has had enough to deal with. This conversation," Misty Fly leaned forward. "Is over."

     "Thank you." Spitfire stood up from her chair again. "We parked in a parking structure. Do you validate?"

     Soarin spoke up again and locked eyes with the Chief. "Would it make a difference if I said that Lightning Waters spoke to me..." the two mares have him an inquisitive look. "From beyond the grave?" Misty Fly pointed to the glass door.

     "Shut it on the way out." The chief continued to hold a slight glare. Spitfire smacked him with her wing, and he reluctantly stood up while muttering a few swears.

     The briskly excited the office and headed for the front doors. Soarin took the lead ahead of Spitfire.

     "What were you doing? You do know that that is the Chief of Police, right?" She prodded as she speed up to trot alongside him.

     "Interim Chief." Soarin corrected. "Have you ever considered that Lightning Waters may have been a breathing pony when we arrived there the first time?"

     "Nope."

     Soarin spun around in front of her. "Well, I have."

     While he was still turned around, he saw Mr. Waters shaking hooves with Rapidfire. Underneath his thin long sleeve shirt, he saw a bandage wrapped around his wrist. Before he could further annualized him, he swirled around to greet Misty Fly.

     "I need to talk to that guy."

     "Whoa, whoa. No." Spitfire tried to block him from moving any further.

     "Come on, Spitty, just a second or two. He is almost my father-in-law you know." Soarin jeered.

     Spitfire's choleric attitude slightly arose. "Don't make a mistake, Soarin. I will kill you."

     Soarin brought his head back slightly and raised an eyebrow.

     "Okay, I appreciate the fact that you think you can beat me up." Spitfire's eyes narrowed. "But I think our last little scuffle proves otherwise."

     "Are you talking about the Apple Festival?" She briefly thought about a few of the small instances that lead up to the scuffle itself.

This doofus is seriously bringing up something that happened years ago. He had an unfair advantage anyway.

     "Yes! You do remember!" Soarin hoof-pumped the air.

     "First of all, I was six. Second, I had a cast!" The mare rose her voice enough to where Misty Fly and Mr. Waters heard them. They turned around and watched the unfolding spectacle.

     "Many would say that it was a clear advantage. It's like having a sledgehammer attached to your arm." Soarin glanced slightly to the left of Spitfire. The chief was talking to Me. Waters and was mentioning to him. She then told the midnight mare to leave the room. "Fantastic, now the Chief is staring at us."

     Soarin pushed past Spitfire and rushed up to the door. The midnight mare closed it behind her and confronted them.

     "The Chief wants them to be left alone." She stuck out a wing and held it to them to make them stop.

     "Some more than others." Spitfire mumbled under her breath.

     "What's with his wrist?" Soarin blurted out.

     "I am not going to discuss this case with you any more." She looked about ready to shove them out of the police station.

     Soarin threw a hoof up. "Fine, we won't talk about the case." He looked at Spitfire. She seemed like she wanted to sock him in the mouth. "Lets talk about fashion! You know what's hot this season? I mean really hot."

     Spitfire and the midnight mare exchanges glances. They both were both quizzical on the subject change. Deciding to go along with it, the mare replied with a simple nod.

    "Bandages. On the wrist. What are your thoughts in the particular subject?"

     "You don't give up, do you?"

     "Oh, I do give up. All the time actually. But not until the moment is right. Now come on. I know that you think that this doesn't add up either."

     She paused for a moment and began speaking again. "Look, even if I did agree with you, it wouldn't matter because it isn't my decision. The ponies who run this place want the case solved." She his her solemn attitude behind an inscrutable face.

     Soarin sighed and continued. "Anypony could see that you are a good cop. That would be visible to any fool. They don't listen to you around here do they?"

     "Psychic insight?" She offered.

     "Shameless, ass kissing, come on! What's with the bandage?" Spitfire remained silent.

     "Rumour is.... he tried to off himself." The midnight mare's tone softened to a whisper.

     "Off himself?" Soarin repeated. "The war hero? The pony who has seen everything? No. That's wrong. That is definitely wrong."

     "You know everything don't you?" The midnight mare's wings ruffled. Her gaze became steely.

     "Yep. Scary, isn't it?" With a glance to the right and left, he spoke quieter than he was before. "Something is going on. And I'm going to figure out who it is."

     Rapidfire listened carefully to the speaking pair of ponies. Even though the case was closed, it didn't hurt to get an extra bit of information from them.

     He closed his eyes and sighed. Those two numbskulls running about the place were driving him mad.

They are more like foals than adults. How they manage to care for themselves, I will never know.

     He focused his attention back to the Chief and Mr. Waters. They were finishing up any details left out of whatever they were talking about.

Great, while I was dwelling on the subject of those morons, I didn't hear anything they said.

     Rapidfire looked about the room. He noticed that a certain pony wasn't there.

What's taking her so long?

     Rapidfire left the room after the Chief and Mr. Waters disbanded. He saw that his partner was still talking to the "detectives" that lead them to the cabin. Overhearing a small tidbit of their conversation, he pushed a wing into Soarin, causing him to step back and face him. They continued walking in the other direction.

     "You're not going anywhere near him. In fact, I'm gonna make sure that you will never hear from the department again." Rapidfire growled.

     "Whoa!" Soarin throw a hoof up and stopped himself. "I'm getting some serious vibrations here that say that you are wrong."

     "I'm on you." Rapidfire narrowed his eyes. "You have a source somewhere, and I'm going to find it. You think this is some kind of arcade game? I'm not going to let you waltz around here like a foal in a candy store."

     "Or Spitfire in a sex shop." Soarin smirked.

     Spitfire, who was drinking a water bottle from her saddlebag, promptly sprayed the water in her mouth into Rapidfire's face.

"WHAT?!" Her shriek filled the room. Everypony turned and stared at her.

     Rapidfire slowly brought a hoof up and wiped the liquid off his face. He wore the largest frown either of them had ever seen. Soarin turned around and faced Spitfire, his cheeky grin still plastered his face. He only spoke two words.

     "Suck it."

     Rapidfire added a menacing glare to his impossibly growing frown.

     Soarin kept his grin as Spitfire nearly tackled him to the floor. He ran out of the station with her hot on his heels, waving a stapler at him that she planed to put to good use when she caught him.

     Rapidfire still stood in the middle of the room. Several other officers and detectives tried to suppress their laughter. Many failed. A red pegasus recorded it on her small phone while sticking the tip of her hoof in her mouth to subdue her giggling.

     Misty Fly stood in her now vacant office. She looked through the large windows and saw that everypony was looking at the same spot across the space, which was blocked from her view because of the door.

     She scooched a few feet to her left and burst out laughing. It was loud enough that a few officers outside the room turned and looked at her. Misty Fly ignored them. Her obnoxious laughter faded into chuckles.

     "It's about time that something happened to that prick."