It wasn’t often that Detective Pinkie had a case. Only the most dastardly villains would dare villainize the world while Pinkie was on the beat. Baddies trembled where they stood when they heard her bouncing step; evildoers looked over their shoulders in fear; crooks and scumbags dared not dirty the streets with their presence; transgressors and scoundrels would…
Well, you get the idea. Nopony needed fear when Pinkie was on the hunt, except those that were actually guilty of being bad. They needed to fear. Pinkie was going to make them fear. She leaned back in her chair, tilting it just far enough to look like she’d topple out of it if somepony breathed on her too hard, but she wouldn’t because that wouldn’t be cool enough and this was all about dramatic emphasis. Those crime drama books Rarity read said so, and Rarity knew best about drama, so Pinkie was all too happy to follow her lead.
The lead, right. The case. It was a serious case, to be sure. Not snooty like an upper case, or sleepy like a pillowcase, or underwear-y like a briefcase. No, this was a mystery case, for the most mysterious detective, Pinkie Pie! Nopony could solve a mystery like Pinkie!
Nopony, not even Shadow Spade, the detective Rarity kept going on about. On and on and on… Pinkie could watch her talk about it all day long. Oh, her voice was wonderful, even if Pinkie kept getting distracted and missing important parts about the case.
The case, right. It was the best of cases, it was the worst of cases… well, actually, it was the worst of cases. It was a murder case, the most murdery of them all. Somepony had been killed, and that meant that the somepony that did the killing must not get away with the killing, and the somepony that had been killed must not have been killed in vain. Or vein, if somepony had stabbed them.
One of the mysteries Rarity read to Pinkie said that the murderer killed somepony by stabbing them with a needle full of nothing, and the nothing went through their veins and killed them, because that nothing was something and that something was air. Rarity tried to explain it further, but Pinkie was too busy watching Rarity smile. The way she fiddled with her mane when she wasn’t paying attention, the way her eyes glinted when she got to the exciting bits, the way she took on different voices as she imitated the ponies who found the victim.
The victim, right. Some poor pony had died. Somepony named… Thyme. Who was Thyme? It wasn’t important, really. Well, it was probably important to Thyme, since Thyme had died somehow, but really, Pinkie didn’t know them, and that was weird because Pinkie knew everyone in Ponyville. Maybe they were visiting? Did she miss out on greeting a new friend? That would’ve been awful!
What was more awful was what happened to Thyme. The worst party ever: death. Not existing. The final party cannon. Somepony in Ponyville had killed them, and that just wasn’t okay. The bad ponies had to get caught, after all. They were bad! Well, Pinkie wasn’t stupid. Sometimes bad ponies got away with doing bad things, because the world worked in unfair ways, but Pinkie preferred the stories where they got caught and the good guys won.
Rarity usually picked the right sort of stories, and she knew by now to warn Pinkie if it wasn’t going to end very well. She was nice that way, and she didn’t like seeing Pinkie sad unless they were both prepared to be sad. Rarity usually brought ice cream over for those nights. Ice cream, soft things, and calming music for after the story was done. Pinkie supplied the tissues, the other half of the hugs, and somepony to talk to when all was finished. Sometimes, Rarity loved to talk more, and Pinkie loved to listen.
Listen. Listen to what? Pinkie listened. There was nothing. The room was dead silent, and somewhere a dead pony needed their mystery solved. Right, the case, she was on the case! Thyme had been killed, and she was going to stop the murderer. But how? Where? Why? Who? Actually, not who, she knew who had been killed and she just had to figure out the other bits, then she could work on the who. Whoever did it must be stopped! So she searched for clues.
Hm, nothing there, under the cutting board. Nothing left on top of the cutting board either, since when she lifted it all the flour fell off. Funny, that. She’d have to be careful. The evidence must be preserved. What if a knife got lost, and that knife was the murder weapon? What if it wasn’t a knife though? It was unfair to assume that it was a knife; that could be profiling. What if it was a fork? A spoon? Or some ungodly hybrid of the two: a foon?
Foon? No, silly Pinkie, she meant a spork. “Foon” was sure funny-sounding though! She laughed before looking a bit further. Nope, nothing in the bowl, either. Just a bunch of dough, rising. It was bread to do that, and so it did. It did it well, but so slowly, it was like watching paint dry, and Pinkie had had enough of that, thank you very much!
There was nothing underneath Rarity either, but Pinkie had to check. Rarity didn’t look quite as concerned as Pinkie about this case, but Rarity was a tough nut to crack. Not quite as nutty as Twilight could be, with her smarts and books and magic, but just nutty enough for Pinkie. Smooth and sweet and crisp like an almond. Rarity was the perfect nut, and she was Pinkie’s nut. She had said so, and Rarity was always right about these things.
Rarity also looked rather confused, which happened more than Pinkie had expected when they first decided to spend more time together. It didn’t bother her too much though, because that expression on Rarity really was kinda cute. Why was she making it this time?
Right, because Pinkie was being a detective. She had to solve the mystery. Well, there was no denying it: this was going to be one heck of a case to solve. No clues in sight, just the bread rising into its own and Rarity’s eyebrows rising higher as the minutes ticked away.
It was time for a smarter approach. The standard detective stuff wasn’t working. Being mysterious in a chair had only led to Pinkie losing balance for a second and almost toppling over, which would have been much less mysterious of her so of course it never happened, and Rarity hadn’t helped her up. Looking for clues had only left a bunch of flour everywhere, and it wasn’t the type of flour that she could give as a bouquet to Rarity, that dame of dames with the name of names.
She’d tried, once, to give her a flour bouquet. Rarity must’ve been allergic to that particular type of flour, though, because she sneezed and the flours exploded and then she went all red in the face for a bit when the flour got all over her black dress lineup, and Pinkie had heard that getting red in the face was a sign of allergies, so she let her be. She did say she was sorry, though, and that seemed to have helped it. Sorrys don’t fix everything, but they do fix an allergic reaction, apparently. Who knew?
Pinkie knew, that’s who. Pinkie knew everything, and she was going to solve the mystery! It was time for the next strategy, then: question any witnesses! She’d question the bread dough, but the last time she asked it for any information it just said to head due yeast, or something like that. Or maybe Pinkie just imagined that bit so she wouldn’t have to question the bread. Ah, well, guess it was time to question Rarity!
She took a seat at the table, picking up the chair from where it lay innocently on the ground, in a coincidentally tipped-over position. She motioned for Rarity to sit across her. Rarity did, in a most ladylike fashion. The dame of the mystery, Rarity was quite a sight. Though she was slightly speckled with flour, it didn’t show as much as one would think, because she was white as the falling snow and twice as pure. Pinkie really wished she didn’t have to do this, but she was left with no choice. This beautiful gal must be questioned. She may have been a witness to the murder, after all, and murder was not good.
“Tell me what you know about the victim,” said Pinkie smoothly, tilting her hat forward like the detectives did, then tilting it back again because she couldn’t really see that way.
“What?” replied Rarity eloquently.
“The victim! The crime scene!” Surely that must jog some memory inside the sweet lass! “Tell me what you know about the pony who was murdered!”
“Murder?” said Rarity, demure even in her bewilderment. She blinked sagely at Pinkie, before restating her previous conviction for emphasis. “What?”
She was playing hard-to-get, then. That wasn’t a good sign. Perhaps she knew the victim personally, then? Pinkie had to be clever if she was going to get any information from her. “What would you say your relationship to the victim was? Were you close? Very close? Did you make passionate love after reading her detective stories?”
Ah, Rarity was getting flustered. Good. Pinkie must have thrown her off her rhythm. “I, um, what, darling?” she purred, full of charm and graceful sputtering.
It was time to show her hoof. Perhaps then Rarity would reveal all that she knew. “Thyme! Thyme was killed, Rarity! You know something! I know you do, so spill it! Who killed Thyme?”
Rarity stared at her, owlishly, cunningly plotting her next move. Was she going to make a break for it? Was she going to take a break? Thievery was against the law, just like murder! Had Rarity known the killer? Pinkie grit her teeth. This was the moment where the suspect revealed themselves.
And then Rarity laughed. It started as a giggle, hidden behind a hoof so fine Pinkie wanted to kiss it. Then it spread to a less restrained noise, one so abundantly joyful Pinkie couldn’t help but join in. They chuckled and chortled until they were wiping away tears, Pinkie’s hoof coming back white-speckled with flour. Right, the case. The clues. Oops.
“Darling,” Rarity began as she regained her breath. Pinkie had taken her breath away! Another victory for Pinkie! “When I said that there had to be something to do here to kill Thyme, I didn’t mean Thyme, as in a pony. I meant time, as in, we should do something else while we wait for the bread to rise.”
Oh.
She pressed on, still smiling that wonderful smile. “Though, I do admit, I love watching your expressions as you think to yourself. Whatever were you doing?”
Pinkie perked up a little, trying a smile back and setting down her hat. She wouldn’t be needing it, then. “I was solving a mystery!”
“A mystery! What a good idea! I do love a good mystery, dearest.” Rarity looked up at the clock, then back towards Pinkie, dusting herself off while she did so. “It has been a while since we read one, hasn’t it? It’ll be about, what, fifteen minutes until the dough is ready to bake, yes? Why don’t you tell me how this one went, and let’s see if we can come up with a wonderful ending for it together. I do love your imagination.”
“And I love you,” Pinkie chirped, before leaning over the table and setting the flour-dusted detective’s cap on Rarity’s perfect curls. To her credit, Rarity didn’t bat an eye at the powder that rained down on her coat. She just settled the hat between her ears, a matching grin on her face as Pinkie took a deep breath. “Now, it wasn’t often that Detective Rarity had a case, you see, and only the most dastardly villains would dare villainize the world while Rarity was on the beat.”
“The killer of Thyme had to be stopped,” Rarity continued seamlessly, tilting back in her chair, but only almost to the point where she’d tip over. No lady of class would fall off a chair when a good crime needed to be solved. “It was a good thing, then, that Detective Rarity had Pinkie to help her solve the mystery.” She gave Pinkie a smirk that made her heart flutter. “And what a mystery it will be, won’t it?”
