A Study in Mint

We came out the front door and trotted back onto the street. As before, Lyra led the way with me following close behind. Surprisingly, our cab remained standing outside, just waiting for us to step back in, apparently. Our driver's behavior did appear somewhat curious to me that way for a moment. Ultimately though, I assumed it all to be included in the eight bits my companion had payed him earlier. In any way, Lyra thanked him for his patience, and had the two of us get back aboard. She also declared that there were some preemptive measures for her to take within the town center, and asked whether I'd prefer to join her.

This time however, I politely declined. Since I actually seemed to have a choice for once, and all. The morning had been more than just a strain on my nerves, and I felt like I could need some rest. I asked to get back to Bucker Street to take a load of my mind, maybe a few hours of sleep after the coffee had worn off. Lyra didn't object to any of my points. She paid our driver another eight bits, just before mentioning she would like to be dropped off at the local post office. The carriage would then take me home, while she tended to her own business. Whatever that meant, I couldn't tell. And frankly, it didn't matter to me for as long as I wouldn't have to be included in any more of her insane business.

I got home at about eleven. Celestia's sun had risen up almost to its highest degree, shining on the happily productive citizens of Ponyville. Minus myself that was, since I hardly felt like being active at all. Upon arriving back at Bucker Street, I exchanged a few, friendly words with our landlady, before retreating to the upstairs commodities. I passed the apartment door into our living room, utterly exhausted still. Once inside, I put myself down on the couch, my limbs firmly folded beside me. In my mind, that was merely the usual way ponies would lay down anywhere. And before Lyra and I ever met, I hadn't questioned it even once. Then again, her uncommon habits did make me question a lot of life's aspects, lately. Even if those revolved around nothing but the state of her own sanity, most of the time.

Among the brochures placed on the dining table, there was a book leaning on one arm of the couch. Lyra must have placed it there earlier today, since I couldn't remember anything placed at that spot earlier. Ironically, the cover image displayed a title named Post Office, one that described her current situation extremely well, as if she had foreseen it. At times like these, I liked to ask myself whether I'd question my own sanity one day, if I kept living with her.

Of course, if I ever told her so, she'd simply argue how I had no other option. And I knew she was right, of course.

I tried to convince myself not to see things to harshly. After all, I barely knew my flatmate even now, and lots of ponies tend to need a while warming up to new acquaintances. Lyra probably was just one of those. In an effort of distracting myself, I started to flip through a few first pages of said novel, but reading it quickly proved too hard a challenge for my strained nerves. My mind kept wandering about, constantly returning to the terrified face of that poor mare whom we saw this morning. The sheer horror, which had fixated itself on her face, never left me for an instant for the rest of the day.

These constantly recurring thoughts made me feel startled at first, then gloomy, and eventually nothing but incredibly tired. An hour passed, without a sign of Lyra approaching our doorstep anytime soon. I eventually decided to retreat to my own room and take a nap. Some sleep might get me distracted from the gruesome business we dealt with earlier. Or so I hoped, to say the least.

When I woke up, the afternoon had already turned to a quaint evening dusk. I couldn't help but frown at the revelation that I did in fact sleep through most of the day. I might not be a very hard working mare, most of the time, anyways. But I always liked keeping to a loose routine at least, and this didn't fit in with my views very well.

Returning to the living room for a bite to eat, I discovered that Lyra had returned. On second thought, only the contrary should still have surprised me at this point. A single trip to the local mail didn't take much longer than an hour or two, even if she had to walk all the way back. Which she probably didn't, since walking long distances seemed not to go along well with her somewhat hasty nature.

Lyra sat in the same armchair as usual, the one facing away from the street. Her body also occupied the same stereotypical position, something that still looked incredibly alien to myself. The vacant expression in her deadpanned eyes told me that though being present physically, my companion's mind was - once again - wandering about somewhere else. Lyra kept staring dead ahead, even as I walked past. She hardly even seemed to notice me.

Sending a silent prayer to Celestia, I wished for my own good she wouldn't just die of hunger or thirst while in that state, some day. It would probably take me days to even notice. The very idea felt both amusing and terrifying.

I walked over to the small kitchen counter, most of which was still occupied by my flatmate's puzzling, chemical installations. A weak stench of hydrochloric acid met my nostrils upon my approach, reminding me how I didn't even want to know what kind of abominations Lyra would go on about during her studies. But as long as she didn't dispose of others' dead bodies that way, I should get along...

Clearly, I've been reading the wrong kind of books, again.

Once at the counter, I poured about half a liter of water into one of the stained kettles, and lit a flame on the gas stove. While the water started its boiling process, I briefly checked the nearby cupboards for any herbs. Discovering some small amounts of earl grey and camomile traces, I cast a quick glance over to Lyra. She still hadn't moved an inch.

"Tea?" I asked, forcing myself not to yell. The words still came out audibly enough to shake even her out of her state of trance. With a blink, her eyes lost their distant expression and turned in my direction.

She hesitated a moment, before replying casually, "Black, no sugar or milk. Thank you very much."

My view shifting back and forth between her and the kettle, I raised an eyebrow. As always, her answer did confuse me a little.

"I was asking for tea," I told her. "Not coffee."

"I am well aware of that. We wouldn't have the ingredients present, anyway. I've used the last of our coffee powder for a little experiment, this afternoon."

Incredulously, I shook my head turning back to the drink currently brewing on the stove. For time being, I preferred not to add anything else to our conversation, and Lyra seemed to feel the same way. The two of us remained silent, until I brought our two cup along, a few minutes later. Lyra greeted it with a friendly nod, before letting her magic levitate it up to her muzzle, then took a sip.

"Any progress on the case?" I asked, sitting down on the armchair opposite of hers.

"Not exactly. There still exist a few gaps in my knowledge, which I'd like to fill in first. Before I manage to do so, it would be far too early to jump to any conclusions."

"Uh-huh. Then...what kind of gaps are we looking for?" By now, I had taken a few sips of tea myself, and gradually felt the day's energy flood back into my muscles. Which shouldn't be much of a surprise, really, considering I'd spent more than half of it in bed.

"We're missing something important," Lyra said. "There was a ring, along with the corpse. I don't know whether you've seen it. In any way, it is most probably a wedding ring, while definitely not belonging to the Fillydelphia mare, who was lying dead alongside it. She was a pegasus, and pegasi don't use these, only unicorn ponies do. Thus, we do have a unicorn involved somehow, but I wouldn't assume him or her being our direct murderer. It just seems...too obvious."

"Sounds legit to me," I answered. "So, what will be your next plan of action?"

"Excellent question. What time is it?"

"Around...seven in the evening I presume?"

Lyra's eyes slightly narrowed, just before she jumped up from her chair, and made for the door. "You must excuse me, then," she declared. "But don't worry, I'll be back in a moment's notice."

Even after the door slammed close, I took a moment to stare at it in skepticism. Only after some time did I direct my attention back to the cup of tea on the table before me. By now, I really should know better than to question her moods.

Lyra wouldn't disappoint me this time; after less than five minutes, the door to our apartment swung back open, as she entered the room once more. Wrapped in her magical aura was a wrapped, black-and-white bundle, which I presumed to be the evening papers. Lyra placed it down on the table between us, then sat back in her chair the same way she had done before.

Upon the questioning look I gave her, she lifted the Ponyville Express up in another aura of magic. The golden light quickly unfolded the package, then skipped ahead a few pages. She stopped somewhere through the last third, and glanced around the unraveled page for a second. Eventually, her hoof pointed to the column on the far right, directing my attention to one of the lost and found inquiries made in it.

Golden ring, probably used for unicorn wedding, found at Foalham, Ponyville, yesterday, it read. For further information, please contact 221B Bucker Street. Ask for one Miss Bon Bon.

I looked up from the short message in a mix of surprise, and irritation. Lyra had firmly sat herself back by now, her forehoofs gently tapping against each other in a slow rhythm.

"I took the liberty to add your name to it," she announced. "My own is somewhat well known around town, including my profession. I wouldn't necessarily have to make a difference, but our potential owner might still become alarmed on seeing it."

"I suppose that makes sense," I answered. "Though trying to arrest the killer without any backup might prove a little dangerous, wouldn't it?"

Lyra shrugged. "It could be. If whoever comes looking after the ring really is the murderer, or otherwise dangerous. Remember, we're looking for a tall stallion, probably unicorn, judging from the ring. However, I'd like to be completely honest with you. Unlike what the ring itself suggests, my money for our killer's identity would be on earth pony. I observed that from the rather large, broad hoofprints left on the ground. You see, unicorns rarely have muscular haunches like this. A lack of manual labor has brought evolution to concentrate our strengths on our magic and intelligence, instead of pure strength. No offense.

"Of course, the race, even the identity of the pony we're searching comes second only to anypony responding to the paper at all. My hopes merely are on our target still being inside Ponyville. Otherwise, the chances of him even reading my note could turn out very feeble. And thus the chance of us catching him any time soon would deteriorate significantly."

"So...suppose someone comes looking for the ring, and he's not the murderer," I theorized, thinking. "How would you explain that you don't have it here, despite your advertisement? It is in police custody after all."

As she narrowed her eyes for a second, I could see Lyra's initial confusion upon my request. "Don't worry about these details. He or she will have a hard enough time proving to us that the ring is in fact rightfully theirs. Besides, I have right here, safe and sound."

And on command, she grasped an object from the table with her magic, levitating it to the height of my eyes. It had escaped my notice up until now, hidden in between all kinds of appalling junk. After all, we hadn't cleaned the room in a while, now. All kinds of ramen noodle and canned soup packages littered the table, joined by stained, empty glasses, and a number of printed documents. Between the entire mess, a minor detail like this one seemed almost nonexistent.

My eyes widened in a sudden realization: The object, which now hovered in front of my face, was in fact the ring from the crime scene. Even the scratches and dirt traces on its outside were identical, as far as I could recall them. No doubt, Lyra already made some smart observation about those.

"Uh...and how exactly did you convince Turner of taking his evidence along?" I asked. Lyra returned the request with a rather bemused expression.

"Again, never mind that," she answered. "I've known Time Turner for a while, now. And trust me, he'll take his sweet time before even finding out about it. Why, I'll probably have the entire case solved by then."

Since I had no idea of how to answer that, the two of us would merely stare at each other for another moment. Then, lasting a good five minutes, we both broke into a strong, heartfelt laughter, almost simultaneously.

"Okay, but honestly," I continued, wiping a few, last tears from the corners of my eyes. "What else can we do, now?"

"Nothing but wait, I suppose. Though I consider any further visits tonight highly improbable." Lyra trailed off for a moment, as her eyes fell onto the small, brass clock situated on top of the stove. "It's not all too late, however," she added. "If you wouldn't mind coming along, I'd suggest to get dinner at a place down the street. Honestly, I think my mind could need a little distraction, right now."

I bit my lip, the constantly decreasing number of bits in my pocket ceaselessly on my mind. Eventually though, I couldn't think of any better excuse, and thus agreed. And to be honest, I wasn't exactly fond of the idea of spending the evening alone at home, either. Or make myself dinner, for that matter. Like I said, more comfortable approaches to any kind of problem are always welcome with me.

"I suggest we get ourselves going, then," Lyra declared, getting up on all four hoofs. "There may be two hours or so left until closing time, but it is a few minutes' walk down to the restaurant, nevertheless."

Once again, Lyra turned out to be right; it really did take us no less than twenty minutes trotting over to the establishment she had suggested. We practically lived in the same street of course, although I doubt Ponyville has any other road longer than Bucker Street. Reaching from the town's center all the way up to its northernmost edge, the street just keeps going for miles at a time. In theory, it would be a perfect first part of a longer road, connecting our town to the capital. A city that, by the way, was a topic my companion still preferred to avoid for some reason.

To both my surprise, and Lyra's disappointment, we found the windows of our destination as darkened as the sky would turn in another hour or two. There wasn't a note at the door, nor any other indication for the restaurant to be closed. The opening hours were printed on a sign right next to the door in bold, black numbers. From what they indicated, business should have proceeded until about nine in the evening, yet the time was scarcely after seven.

Lyra took a step back, her eyes gazing over the gray facade and its windows for a few moments. "Strange. His wife must have come home early, or something."

"Come again?" I asked, turning to face her.

"The store owner's wife...she's been visiting her family for a few days," Lyra replied. "As far as I know, she was to come home tomorrow morning. Must have been moved to tonight, so he's picking her up, or something. At least it would explain why there's nopony around."

I shrugged. "Possibly. But how come you knew? Are they friends of yours?"

"I don't have friends," she answered with a snort. "Or at least, I try keeping my emotional bonds to other ponies at a minimum level. It's the best way to sustain this cold, rational reasoning of mine. I happened to get to know both of these two a few weeks ago, when I cleared up a burglary at their house. A minor inconvenience, not quite worth mentioning. Anyhow, I've received my payment in free meals ever since. Quite a good bargain, come to think of it."

"Easy to imagine," I said with an - unfortunately - more than sheepish grin. "So what's the plan? I'm sure Sugarcube Corner will be open some time longer."

Lyra shrugged. "I suppose I can settle for that, just as well."

Sugarcube Corner was indeed still opened up. And rather crowded, at that. Arriving at the town's central cafe about another thirty minutes later, we could finally look forward to some half-decent meal. When I told her I wouldn't mind any certain spot to sit in, Lyra declared that she preferred to use the table in the far corner. It was the same she had used when I first came here some time back.

Rather to my discontent, Pinkie Pie wasn't working at this hour. From what I've heard, she switched to the morning hours this week, and that her shift was a regular subject to change. Instead of her, we were served by the cafe's owner; an orange, young stallion with a hairy chin, whom everypony simply kept referring to as Mr. Cake. I could hardly tell whether it was his real name, but neither did I have any reason to doubt it. I've heard of artists or religious leaders giving themselves some sort of alias, but I certainly didn't expect the same from a simple store owner.

While we sat in silence, waiting for our food to arrive, Lyra sat perfectly still. Much like the way she would do at home. The only difference was made by her eyes, which kept flashing throughout the room ceaselessly. After a minute or so, I guessed she could easily tell me the autobiography of - more or less - everypony around. I still had my doubts about her skills at the time, but nevertheless tried to steer the conversation that way. Besides, I needed something to talk about right now, otherwise all of this would grow excessively awkward and tiresome.

"So...I've read that article you've written a while ago," I started. Lyra came out of her trance the moment I started speaking up. Her eyes narrowed, as they closed in on me.

"Article? What article?"

"One of those left on the coffee table," I replied. "The Science of Deduction I think it was."

"Ah, yes indeed," Lyra said with a smug. "Well, what did you think?"

"It's brilliant...I suppose. Or at least it did sound that way, having a certain professional touch. Though I didn't actually understand all of it, to be honest."

"Why, I thought it was simple enough. Care if I elaborate on a few points?"

"No, no. Please do."

"Very well, then." Considering her point, Lyra leaned back towards the wall. As much as she could, which wasn't very much, given we only sat on small stools. "The art of deduction concentrates itself around observing things, rather than just seeing them. It is, in a way, a higher level of visual perception. Do you follow?"

"I would think so."

"Let me give you an example, then. Without turning around, could you tell me how many ponies there were in this room when we first arrived here?"

I blinked at her odd request. "I couldn't, of course. I didn't look out for a detail like that."

"And here's where you're wrong," Lyra pointed out. "You most likely saw them, all of them, the instant you stepped through the door. But while your brain did take in the visual information, you did not observe. Assuming you had done so however, you would also have recognized a lot more about them. The data provided by a simple, throughout look can be vast, and prove vital in any possible case of emergency."

I nodded in agreement, though while I found myself more and more able to grasp what Lyra meant, the question of how she would practically comprehend it still lasted on my mind. "Do you observe things the way you described them, or was that just theorizing?" I asked. "Because the theory by itself does make sense, I suppose. But I don't see how anyone's mind could constantly keep up with it."

"Of course I do," Lyra replied. "My own senses are the foundations for most of my research, and need to be aware of my surroundings at all times. If you want to know by the way, there were twenty-three other ponies in this room when we entered. Right now, the number amounts to one more, since two mares recently left, and a family of three sat down behind yourself on the right, just moments ago."

I took a careful glance over my shoulder, looking at the ponies sitting two tables away from us. They seemed to display a classic family constellation, a young stallion and mare, accompanied by an even younger filly. To my surprise, both the adult ponies' cutie marks depicted one or more apples of sorts. "Young couple with a kid, I suppose?"

"Not exactly. They're all siblings, to be precise."

I narrowed my eyes. "So, you know them, or..."

"I don't. Not personally, anyways," Lyra said, dismissing my question with a hoof. "But there's several things hinting towards that. First, there's the age gap. While they might be unnaturally far apart for siblings, the two elder ones are clearly to young for parenthood. The mare, you see, has only been fully grown for a short time herself. Also, you can tell by the way they look at each other. While they are certainly lacking any signs of romantic tendencies, there does exist some kind of deep trust between them, the one you normally only find between close relatives. Also, a married couple, bearing almost identical cutie marks? Probable, but highly unlikely, I'd say. I would suppose their similarities do share a genetic basis."

"In fact, let's stick with the mare for a moment," she added, taking a deep breath. "Orange coat, blond mane...not exactly uncommon for an earth pony, but there's more informative aspects of her outside than just the colors. She's a hard working pony, you see. Manual labor, for which she tied her hair into that loose ponytail, so I'd assume some rapid movements. Judging from the stains of mud in her mane that work should be on a farm of sorts...orchard with trees, I would suppose. These rapid movements I mentioned usually require some sort of opposing force, something as strong as fully-grown tree trunks. Her cutie mark wraps up my observation very neatly.

"Adding to all that, they recently lost both their parents, leaving them alone with only potential grandparents, my money would be on a grandmother. Their mother presumably died giving birth to the youngest one, followed by the father, whom our mare here received her Stetson from. It is not exactly a common female attire, don't you think? Combined with its level of decay, I suppose he wore it most of his life, thus making it an important hereditary object in the family. Thus, she naturally holds the hat in high value herself, and wears it at all places, despite it being that much worn out.

"Now, the false observation of them being the filly's parents might not be completely without fault. They are trying to pose as some kind of similar example to their sister, given the difficult situation."

"That's also brilliant," I blurted out. Lyra looked at me in surprise.

"Yes, thank you, I wasn't finished, though."

"Sorry."

"Let me sum it up, then. A hard working, farm pony, trying to compensate for her deceased parents, while taking care of her little sister in turn. Her name is Applejack - that's hardly a difficult observation, the others just keep calling her that - and she seems to hold a high value in the virtues of telling the truth, and honesty in general, although..." Lyra suddenly trailed off. Her eyes narrowed, expressing some doubt, while still wandering over to the mare.

After a few more moments of observation, Applejack - if that was her name - returned the look, seemingly only now realizing she was being watched. To my embarrassment, Lyra never withdraw her own curious looks. I could almost see little question marks dancing on top of her head, so deep was her concentration at that point.

The mare cast a few more irritated glances over at our table, before she excused herself from her company, and got up, walking towards us. If I could have melted into the ground just then, I would have warmly welcomed the opportunity.

"Somethin' the matter, sugarcube?" she asked, looking at Lyra. There was a certain trace of annoyance mixed into her voice, although she didn't sound at all hostile, just yet. Unfortunately, my companion hardly reacted appropriately. Her eyes kept flashing across the mare's face, clear signs of confusion mixed into them. She lowered her view down to face me for a moment, then glanced back up at our sudden visitor. All the while, Lyra never uttered a word.

"Ugh..." I started for her. "You'll have to excuse her. She...does that sometimes."

"Is that so...?" Applejack started, but stopped short mid-sentence, lowering her eyes at me. "Hey! Ah've heard about you! Ain't y'all the new pony Pinkie Pie got all 'xcited about?"

"Suppose I am," I answered, uncertainty mixed in my voice. "Just moved here recently...from Appleloosa."

"Appleloosa, ya say?" She raised an eyebrow, which, I supposed, was due to surprise. Her expression also softened a great deal from her formerly distraught situation. "Funny, since ah've got kinsfolk down there, as well. Been around once or twice, myself. Heh...sorry, ah should've introduced myself, first of all."

She offered a forehoof for a genuine hoofshake. Having to make up for Lyra's behavior somehow, I hastily returned it.

"Name's Applejack. Mah fam'ly runs the apple orchard on the far west o' town. If ya come down to th' market someday, ah can make y'all a good price for some."

"I'd love to," I replied with a smile. "I'm Sweetie Drops, by the way, but everypony just keeps calling me Bon Bon. From my home, you can probably guess I'm more than used to apples. So...your offer is more than welcome with me."

"Heh, ah'll figure, alright." Through all our friendly atmosphere, I couldn't help but notice the nervous glances, which Applejack shot over at Lyra from time to time. She still hadn't stopped her staring, and I really hoped she would return to normal, before this conversation would turn all too awkward.

"Well," Applejack concluded with a chuckle. "Ah'll leave you to it, then." With another look at Lyra, she lowered her voice, adding: "Be kinda pleasant though if she don't give me them looks all th' time...just sayin'."

I nodded, promising I'd see to it, as she turned to leave back towards her family's table. As soon as she was out of range, I waved a hoof at Lyra, hoping my expressions matched the level of my annoyance. "Equestria to Lyra? What in the world was that all about?"

"Huh? No, I..." she stuttered, blinking. It took a moment for my companion to come out of her vacant phase. "I considered that whole virtue of honesty, but...well..."

"Well, what?"

Lyra remained silent for a moment, her eyes wandering from me, over to Applejack's table, then back to myself, again.

"Never mind," she said. "It's probably nothing."