A Murder On Lilac Lane

Sunlight from a nearby window illuminated the grizzled, old stallion’s desk. He sat, tapping his cheek with the nib of his quill, and rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. Hmm… Let’s see… How to start? Brindletop contemplated. Then his eyes wrinkled with a satisfied smile. He dipped the nib of his quill into an inkwell and began to scratch upon a sheet of parchment.

Lilac Lane was a pleasantly sunlit  cul-de-sac close enough to the shopping district to keep business brisk during the day, but quiet enough to be peaceful at night, Brindletop wrote. The lane was named for the many lush and well-tended old lilac trees that adorned its sidewalks and bloomed in the spring. These were accented by majestic horse chestnut trees and shop windows adorned with flower boxes hosting a variety of blooms. In the spring and throughout the summer, the lane was a happy riot of color.

Nestled cozily between a bakery and a bookseller was Loose Leaf’s Tea Shop. “A Purveyor of Fine, Rare, and Exotic Teas,” read the gold-leafed, embossed letters on the black, lacquered sign that hung above the door. Across the way stood a chemist’s apothecary, a greengrocer, a card shop, the newsagent, a pet emporium, a tobacconist, and a lovely, little toy shop. Like most of the shopkeepers on the lane, Loose Leaf lived in a roomy and comfortable flat above her shop. Many of the merchants had families, so to see foals and young fillies and colts happily running about playing games in the street was a familiar and well-accustomed sight.

If there was a dark tint to this otherwise charming scene, it was that the buildings were all owned by one Mister Moneybags, a portly and irascible old gentlecolt. He loved nothing more than wealth and, when it suited him, he had no qualms with raising the rent as much as the law would allow.

Brindletop paused, read through what he’d written, and smiled. Yes, this will do very nicely! he thought, wetting his quill anew and continuing.

Loose Leaf came down the stairs early one morning, rounded the corner from her flat, and stepped to the door of her shop, key in hoof. It was then that a sound caught her ear. Turning, she saw a filly playing with a bright, red ball. This was nothing unusual, as many foals, excited and full of energy, would come out early in the morning to play in the lane. If there was anything peculiar about this filly, it was that she played alone, repeatedly bouncing her ball across the lane and behind the hedgerow that stood in front of the apothecary, just across from the tea shop.

Smiling, Leaf waved to the filly, who stared back for a moment before raising a wary hoof and running off down the lane. As Leaf retrieved her mail from the postbox and unlocked the door to her shop, she wondered at the filly’s odd behavior. It wasn’t terribly unusual to see fillies and colts playing by themselves, as there were those who, being shy, often preferred their own company. Still, there was something about that little filly that set Leaf’s teeth on edge.

“Good morning!” came a cheerful voice from behind her. Leaf turned to see Constable Reginald Haye, the patrolpony assigned to Lilac Lane, casually making his morning rounds.

Constable Haye had worked hard during his time at the academy, graduating among the top fifty in his class. Although this might not seem like a notable accomplishment, for Haye it was a point of honor. Born of a good, stout working class family, he’d been the first among them to go to college and attend the police academy, making him the pride of his herd.

He’d been assigned to Lilac Lane barely a year before, and he found the warm and friendly residents much to his liking. Haye had made a few friends among them and had even considered taking a flat near the lane.

However, he was shy by nature and, although he thought of Loose Leaf as particularly charming and attractive, he could never bring himself to do more than nod, smile pleasantly, and say good morning when he strolled past her shop. If he could, Haye would sweep her into his arms, off her hooves, and into an idyllic… Well, that is if he could ever bring himself to do more than smile and say good morning.

An equal impediment to his desires was his awareness of their class differences. Leaf’s charm, grace, and obvious education showed her to be from an upper-middle class background, a gulf of social standing which, in Haye’s mind, might as well be as wide as the sea itself. After all, a working class lad with such a fine lady? No, it would never do, and such a thing would certainly never be accepted by her family. Did Leaf even take notice of him beyond their casual halloos? Still, to see her smiling face every morning as she opened shop and Haye walked his beat was enough for the time being.

“Good morning!” Loose Leaf returned with a smile as Constable Haye strolled past and on down the lane. Then, with her morning mail in hoof, she stepped into her shop, went to her counter, and began perusing the envelopes. The majority were bills, an advertisement, and… a notice from the Rents Board? Opening this last, Leaf read its contents and scowled sourly. Her rents were to be raised again, starting on the first of next month. It was the fifth time that year that greedy, old Moneybags had raised her rents! If he kept it up, Leaf would soon find herself without a shop!

She slipped the notice back into its envelope, tossed it on the counter, disgusted, and began sorting through the rest of the mail. Then, coming upon a singular envelope with the Equestrian postmark, Leaf smiled. Ah, how lovely! A letter from her dear friend Lyric! It was just the thing Leaf needed to cheer her up. Dropping the rest of the mail on the counter, she excitedly opened the envelope.

Her smile broadened as she read about her friend’s accounts of various adventures. The discovery of a herd of friendly changelings? Interesting! Leaf’s heart warmed as she read Lyric’s account of traveling to a carnival. Yes, it was always a joy to get letters from Lyric. They always added a wonderful touch of spice to Loose Leaf’s life and brightened her day. Grabbing a quill and sheaf of parchment from beneath the counter, Leaf began composing a return letter to thank Lyric for sharing her tales and to give account of what was happening in her own life at the moment.

With her good humor restored, Leaf hummed a merry tune as she brewed the teas and set up shop for her customers. As the morning lazily drifted toward noon, the lane was filled by prospective patrons, casual strollers out for their morning walks, gawking tourists, and the usual assortment of happily playing local colts and fillies.

The clock in Loose Leaf’s shop chimed ten. As if on cue, old Moneybags waddled through the door and up to the counter for his Wednesday morning cup of tea. Although not particularly welcome, Moneybags always came to the shop on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, as had become his habit since Leaf first opened some years before.

“The usual, Mister Moneybags?” asked Leaf, forcing a professional smile as he leaned, winded, against the counter. It bent ever so slightly under the portly stallion’s massive weight.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Moneybags gasped, paying her little mind. Arrogant twit!

“Here you are, sir,” said Leaf, finding it difficult to stop herself from launching into a scathing verbal assault about how offended she was that he dared to raise her rents to such a ridiculous degree. However, it was then that she had a mischievous idea. “That’ll be fifty bits, please,” Leaf chimed pleasantly, suppressing a smirk.

“What! Fifty bits!” he spluttered. “Why, that’s robbery!”

“Cost increases and all that,” said Leaf calmly, throwing back in his face the very same excuses he’d put forth in the Rents Board’s notice.

“Well, I never!” Moneybags scowled as Leaf stared at him with all the intensity of one who would brook no argument. Undesirous of making an embarrassing scene, he dug about in his coat pocket, produced two gold crowns, and then slapped them on the counter.

Leaf took the coins and returned his change. “Thank you. Have a lovely day, and do come again.”

Harrumphing, Moneybags waddled out the door and took a seat at a café table. The chair all but disappeared beneath his bulk. He sipped his tea as daintily as a stallion of his size could. A moment later, Moneybags scowled as he felt a sting and slapped the side of his neck. He examined his hoof, but found nothing, and so resumed drinking his tea.

As soon as Moneybags was out of earshot, Leaf raced to the back room of her shop. No longer able to contain herself, she quickly shut the door and let forth with a raucous guffaw. After a minute or two of this, she composed herself, clearing her throat, and returned to the front counter with only an amused smile remaining on her face. In no time at all, Leaf’s morning resumed its usual schedule, and she busily served lines of patrons, who soon filled the tables within and outside of her tea shop.

Without warning, shouts and screams sounded from the lane. Startled, Leaf dashed outside and cried out at the sight of a motionless, limp Moneybags slumped over his table. His fat face lay in a puddle of tea upon his saucer, the teacup shattered. More tea had sloshed off the table, dribbling onto the sidewalk.

Constable Haye had just been completing another round of the neighborhood and was just down the street from the tea shop when he heard the commotion. Alarmed, he ran toward them. A moment later, he found a crowd gathered outside the tea shop and a distraught and weeping Loose Leaf standing beside Moneybags.

“What’s all this, then?” Haye asked.

“I… I don’t know!” blurted Leaf through her tears. “He came into the shop, ordered his tea as usual, came out here, and it wasn’t five minutes later that I heard screams. I ran out here to find this!”

By this time, the curious crowd had grown larger. They pressed in, trying to get a better look. Haye, taking command of the situation, raised a fore hoof to address the crowd. “Nothing to see here, just somepony taken ill. Please move along!” he instructed, an authority in his voice that would not be denied. After taking one last peek at the scene, the crowd finally thinned and everypony wandered off.

Leaning over Moneybags, Haye put a hoof to the jugular vein in Moneybags’s neck, but there was no pulse. He was dead. Shifting his inspection to the rest of the body, Haye found a large, porcelain shard buried deep in a laceration on Moneybags’s face—doubtless from when he had fallen forward and smashed the tea cup. There was no blood from the wound; he was dead when he collapsed. Haye dipped a fore hoof in the puddle of tea, raised it, and sniffed it. Peppermint and the scent of almonds.

“Arsenic?” he muttered to himself. Then, raising his voice, Haye asked Leaf, “Did you spice this tea?”

“Yes… Yes, I spice all my teas. It makes them unique,” she said, voice quivering. “But I didn’t poison Moneybags, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

Haye glanced at Leaf, and then straightened and stepped over to her. He placed a reassuring hoof on her shoulder and smiled gently. “Perhaps it would be best if you went back inside while I investigate.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Leaf. She was still shaking, but she tried to smile through her distress.

The curious crowds were gathering again. This time, as Constable Haye dispersed them, he made it firmly clear that they were to either leave or go home. Seeing his serious expression, they quickly left, leaving only one straggler in the center of the lane. It was the little filly with the red ball that Leaf had seen earlier that morning. Oddly, she didn’t appear confused, nor upset. Rather, she was staring intently at Moneybags, as if to be sure he was indeed dead. After a time, the filly, seemingly satisfied, turned and ran off.

Filing the filly’s strange behavior away for later deliberation, Constable Haye touched his radio and called in the location and the crime. Shortly, several steam police cars with their lights flashing, a steam ambulance, and a steam police investigations lorry stood in the lane outside of Leaf’s shop. The area between the bakery and the booksellers was cordoned off with yellow tape. Other constables worked to clear everypony out of the area for a block in all directions.

Finally, a plain black police steamer pulled up to the scene. A tall, middle-aged stallion with a stern demeanor and a short, cropped mane stepped out of the vehicle. It was Chief Inspector James Paddock. He immediately crossed the tape and began questioning forensics investigators already on the scene. A few minutes later, he entered the tea shop.

Constable Haye rose to his hooves, saluted, and then stood at ease when Paddock approached the table where Haye and Leaf sat.

“I presume you were first on the scene?” Paddock asked Haye.

“Yes, sir,” answered Haye.

“If you don’t mind, Constable, I’d like to ask Miss Leaf some questions. If you’ll excuse us?”

“Yes, sir,” Haye repeated, and then took his leave, though he remained just outside the tea shop.

Paddock took a seat across from Leaf. “I’m Chief Inspector Paddock. Do you feel up to answering some questions?” He eyed her closely, carefully, studying her expressions and demeanor.

“No… That’s fine,” Leaf replied, her voice still shaky. She really didn’t feel up to answering questions, but her desire to get it over and done with was stronger than her unsteadiness at the moment.

“Very good,” said Paddock, taking a small notepad and pen from the pocket of his mack. “First, and please forgive what seems to be an obvious question, are you the owner of this shop?”

“Yes,” Leaf muttered, just barely loud enough for Paddock to hear.

“And were you acquainted with the deceased?”

“Yes,” she answered, staring down at the table.

“And what was your relationship to the deceased?” Paddock asked, his face a blank mask of professional inquisition.

“He… he was my landlord. He owns… owned this building.”

“And how would you describe your relationship with him?”

“It was a professional one. We dealt with each other from time to time, but only when it was required.”

“Would you say yours wasn’t a friendly relationship, then?” Paddock asked, arching an eyebrow.

Loose Leaf lifted her eyes. “Ours was a professional relationship, nothing more.”

“He raised your rent five times in one year. How did you feel about that? Did it upset you?”

“I wasn’t happy about it. Who would be?” Bristling, Leaf met Paddock’s cold gaze without hesitation. “What are you implying, Inspector?”

“I’m not implying anything,” he said flatly. “I’m simply trying to gather the particulars and get to the bottom of all this.”

Leaf watched Paddock curiously and considered his line of questioning. Could Moneybags have been murdered? Was Paddock thinking of her as some kind of suspect? Considering what Haye had muttered earlier, it was certainly a possibility. “Shall we get straight to the point, Inspector? Granted, I may have borne some ill will toward Moneybags, but I did not kill him!”

Paddock’s eyebrows climbed a little higher at that, and he scribbled more notes in his pad. “Odd,” he said. “No one said anything about murder. Funny that you should.”

“I didn’t kill him!” Leaf insisted, flicking her ears back. “Are we done here?” she asked with some annoyance, strongly suggesting to the Chief Inspector that she no longer had any desire to speak with him.

“Yes, of course,” Paddock said brusquely as he tucked his pen and pad into the pocket of his mack. Rising to his hooves, he produced a business card and set it on the table in front of Leaf. “Do call me if you think of anything,” he said, starting for the door. Then he paused, turned back toward her, and eyed her for a moment. “Oh, and don’t leave town, Miss Leaf. I may need to question you further.” Finally, Paddock left.

Releasing a deep sigh, Leaf laid her face on her fore hooves and tried not to think about the day’s horrors. The clopping of hooves approached, and some took the seat opposite her. She looked up to find it was Constable Haye. His countenance had shifted from one of the objective investigator to that of honest concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected,” Leaf sighed.

“Is there anyone you’d like to call and talk to?”

Leaf smiled and patted his hoof. Yes, this Haye was a sweet and reassuring fellow, something she found she very much needed at that moment. “No, thank you,” she said. “Unfortunately, I have no one I could call about this, though I very much wish I did.”

“If you’ll pardon my saying so,” Haye began, rather hesitantly, “I’m guessing your family wouldn’t understand this… situation you’re in.” When Leaf only stared at him, Haye quickly threw up his fore hooves in apology. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend or pry!”

Leaf smiled, giving him a knowing look. “You’re good. I suppose most who don’t know me wouldn’t have guessed that, but you’re right. They wouldn’t understand, especially my father.” Haye visibly relaxed.

It was then that something occurred to Leaf, something that she’d just noticed from her very brief meetings with Haye in the past, when he’d walk by her shop in the morning and greet her. In that moment of realization, she smiled and decided he was worth trusting.

“Oh, my father would be absolutely livid,” said Leaf, rolling her eyes. “I can picture it now! ‘How could you do such a thing that risks sullying our family’s good reputation?’” she joked, impersonating a male voice. Then she giggled. “I can imagine him saying it as he paced the floor, wearing a hole in the carpet!”

Haye chuckled. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps Loose Leaf was not what he had assumed her to be. Hope lit within him.

And so they sat and chatted. Haye was careful to steer the conversation away from the events of the day, to keep Leaf from dwelling overmuch on what had been, for her, an absolutely overwhelming shock. Still, in spite of Haye’s efforts, Leaf continuously returned to the murder. He supposed it was only natural, considering the enormity of the thing. How could anyone not think of it? After all, such things didn’t happen every day and would be, for most, devastating to say the least.

Then, drawing upon his careful, mental notes on certain traits about Leaf, Haye attempted another tactic. “What do you think happened to Moneybags?” Perhaps focusing on the case itself, as opposed to the horror of the scene, would help ease her mind.

Leaf stared at him for a moment, mildly surprised at both the question and Haye’s perception. Had he really picked up on her innate curiosity so quickly? She couldn’t help but find herself charmed by that. Turning her eyes up in thought, she scratched her chin. “It’s too soon to say,” Leaf replied, warming to the subject. “I don’t see enough evidence to draw any indications from.”

“Good point,” Haye said, smiling. After a pause, he went on, “Still, ‘when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”

Leaf brightened, exclaiming, “Sir Arthur Cannon Doilies! Shearlock Holms!”

“You’re familiar with his stories?”

“What amateur detective isn’t?” she replied with a wink, a sly expression on her face. That expression became thoughtful as she remembered something. “I did notice something odd this morning as I was opening.”

“Oh?”

“There was this strange, little filly playing in the road with a red ball. Nothing out of the ordinary for Lilac Lane, but—”

“A little filly?” interrupted Haye. “About ten years old or so? Did she just stare at you with a blank expression?”

“Yes!” gasped Leaf. “How did you know that?”

“If it’s the same one you saw, I saw her standing and staring at Moneybags, and then at me, just after Moneybags died!”

Leaf blinked, her brow creasing in puzzlement. “Do you suppose she had something to do with all of this?”

“I don’t see how,” said Haye. “I can’t imagine anypony that age being part of…” He trailed off, not wanting to even consider such a possibility.

“Maybe it’s just an odd coincidence in a day full of odd things.”

Haye shrugged. “You’re probably right. Still, it is rather unusual, don’t you think?”

Leaf could only nod in agreement.

More than an hour had passed since Constable Haye and Leaf had started chatting. The forensics team and inspectors, having concluded their investigation, had packed the body off along with their equipment, had taken down the barrier tape, and had since returned to Shetland Yard. This hadn’t passed Haye’s, nor Leaf’s notice, and Leaf was glad the police were gone. She could now resume her business day. Customers began to drift into the tea shop, curious to know what had transpired.

Seeing this, Haye decided it was time to leave. “Well, Miss Leaf, I’m sorry for all that’s happened here today. I do hope I’ve been of some small help and comfort to you.” Haye smiled, rising from his seat and extending a hoof to her.

“More than you know,” she said gratefully. Loose Leaf glanced down at his extended hoof, smiled, and then, stepping up to him, gently kissed Haye on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Haye blushed, a bit flustered by her unexpected response. “Well, then!” he chuckled shyly, struggling to compose himself. “I suppose I should check in before my superiors think I’ve gone AWOL.”

“Again, thank you,” Leaf repeated, returning to her place behind the counter. She smiled to herself as she began tending to her customers, pleased that Haye had finally opened up and reached out to her, something she found herself wishing had happened much sooner.

Stepping back onto the street, Constable Haye paused, touched his cheek where Leaf had kissed it, and grinned. Although the morning had been most harrowing for poor Miss Leaf, at least it did seem to have one small bright spot in it. He had gotten a chance to finally get to know, and possibly become close to, this lovely tea shop owner.

Little did Haye realize that the day’s events, and even his association with Leaf, would end up leading them both into something they might find beyond their abilities to handle. But that would be for another day.