Dear Applejack,

Life's been boring here in Canterlot. Not much has been going on since we arrived. I thought we'd get all kinds of interesting cases once we advertised our services, but its all been missing pets and cheating spouses. These rich ponies take the term “faithfulness” lightly. And it ain't just the stallions cheating. But enough about that. How are things on the farm? Are all of you still working hard? We're very thankful for the cider and fritters you sent us. We'll try to make this supply last. Tell Big Macintosh to take it easy once in a while. He's not as young as he used to be and he sure as Tartarus can't afford another work injury right now. Tell him I said hello and thanks for the pictures. Make sure to give him a big hug from me. How's everypony else? Is Pinkie Pie still okay? Is she actually using the blanket I left her? I told her it was okay for her to take it because I wouldn't need it in Canterlot, but she was bawling like a newborn when I gave it to her. Pinkie really knows how to make goodbyes kinda awkward. I think she took my leaving harder than you did! But seriously, Big Sis, I'm fine. We're all fine. You don't need to spend all your time fretting about my well-being. This is the honest truth. Whatever happens with this new life of ours, there's no way I can die before I at least beat my big sister at hoof-wrestling. Keep those hooves nice and limber until I visit!
Love,
Apple Bloom

The mailpony neither brought good news or bad news. For the most part, he delivered…neutral news. The type that leaned neither toward despair or happiness, unless one was in a specific mood. While in Ponyville this was perhaps the accepted standard, Canterlot seemed particularly dispassionate in its messages. It was all too formal, too obviously composed by the hoof of an indifferent servant to excite. At least Pinkie Pie’s invitations caused a bit of a stir in one’s brain when they arrived, as odd as they were composed.

A dispirited Apple Bloom shifted through the day’s letters without enthusiasm. She greatly wished her communications with her dear older siblings were more frequent, therefore yielded more to look forward to upon Celestia’s sunrise. But unfortunately, the steady trickle of news from the farm had diminished in recent weeks. Other than a rather enthusiastic and short letter telling her of Little Macintosh’s birth, she had received naught but replies to her own letters. And with news from her end being as scarce as it was, this did not award her on a daily basis. Spread upon her desk were mere bills, appeals for magazine subscriptions, and the occasional lackluster thank-you note from an appreciative client.

Dear CMC,

I offer my immense thanks for your hard work. As a result of your efforts, my property was returned to me completely undamaged and the culprit was apprehended immediately. Your payment is set to arrive within the next few days. I have generously awarded you a bonus of three bits for your speed and efficiency.

Sincerely,

Sunshine Lullaby

The brief message was far too riddled with errors for Apple Bloom to suppress a snort of contempt. To refer to one’s pet mouse as “property” and a confused three-year-old as the “culprit” whom was “apprehended”, rather than sent home to her parents within the next day were all ludicrous by their own right.

The door of the office opened, admitting an orange pegasus whose untidy purple mane had stood the test of aging. She was clothed—the fact odd in itself—in a black leather jacket that shone new and slightly imposing in the dim office. Scootaloo, as was her nature, neglected to close the office door behind her as she crossed the threshold. She instead trotted casually to the comfortable sofa on the other side of the room, paying no mind to the gaping door she had left behind.

Frowning, but quite used to this annoyance, Apple Bloom surrendered her seat at the desk. She swallowed all words of reproach, each one exhausted months previous before she came to accept one of Scootaloo’s many flaws as a permanent fixture in their lives as roommates. Apple Bloom rushed to shut the door herself, speaking to the newcomer as she placed a hoof on the knob.

“What happened to Winter Frost?” she inquired, arching her eyebrow.

Scootaloo sprawled leisurely across the couch. When they had first acquired this rather disappointing abode, a choice had presented itself to them in the form of this couch. It had been whether or not to move this uncomfortable piece of furniture from their living quarters upstairs or to purchase another one while allowing the original to remain in its rightful place. In the end, Scootaloo had assisted Sweetie Belle in carrying the sofa downstairs, whilst Apple Bloom had spent some of their remaining bits on an unexpectedly expensive couch for their official place of residence. Scootaloo, despite seldom attempting to relax in their place of business, ignored the choice on days like this in which she was too lazy to go upstairs.

“Dumped him,” responded Scootaloo calmly. “He was too clingy.”

Apple Bloom groaned inwardly at the admission. Scootaloo was certainly incapable of keeping a coltfriend or marefriend past a week, she acknowledged sourly.

“You know, one day…”

Scootaloo waved away the usual “One day…” speech. Obviously, one day she was going to find herself utterly without a coltfriend or marefriend and be completely ignorant as to the cause. On that day, she would at last realize the flaw in her methods, but it would be far too late to remedy it. Apple Bloom had warned her of this many times in the past, out of courtesy that bordered on that of a mother. But Scootaloo did not care about “One Day” as long as “Today” was accessible.

“Any interesting letters?” she queried as a distraction.

“One. Sunshine Lullaby invited us to a party to celebrate the return of Stockings.”

Scootaloo lay on her back, her back legs stretched toward the edge of the couch and her small wings folded underneath her. The position wasn’t entirely comfortable, nor would it have necessarily been improved by a less distressing piece of furniture, but she thought the pose made her look cool, especially as she laughed at Apple Bloom’s words.

“A party? For a bucking cat? I know the old mare lives by herself, but isn’t that a little much?”

Apple Bloom shrugged, deciding she didn’t have a right to judge what was “a little much” in the city of Canterlot. For the normally wealthy inhabitants, a “little much” was precisely the correct amount, whilst the citizens of Ponyville most likely would have been overtaken by mirth at the extravagant social events. This had taken a bit of getting used to during their initial transition from an intimate little town to an immense, flamboyant city.

“Are you going?” demanded Scootaloo.

“Well, she was nice enough to invite us. And she wrote the letter herself, so she must really want us to be there….”

Apple Bloom was uncertain. It wasn’t as if appointments and cases were piling up at the moment. Even if they were, she was quite tired of searching for missing pets and shadowing unfaithful partners. As of late, she’d been feeling the Canterlot Mystery Company was doing little except providing yet more bragging rights to prosperous residents whom could build up their minor troubles by hiring somepony to aid them. Perhaps a cat party was not her preferred getaway, but it did not seem any more of a waste than digging through somepony’s trash to uncover evidence of their morally questionable romantic affairs.

“If…if Sweetie Belle wants to…,” was the best answer she could produce.

She glanced at the clock above the desk, frowning. The mention of Sweetie had drawn something out of her thoughts.

“Where is Sweetie Belle?” she asked, bemused. “She isn’t working today, is she?”

Scootaloo, whom knew a fair amount about Sweetie Belle’s work schedule, shook her head. As far as she knew, their unicorn friend would not be waitressing today unless she was filling in for somepony. And if she was, surely she would have sent them some kind of message to warn them of this. In fact, she would have sent them a message regardless of what she planned to do on her vacant day, Scootaloo was quick to realize with slight worry.

“Don’t worry, Bloom,” the orange pegasus uttered, smiling. “If she’s been murdered, you’ll find the killer in no time.”

The comment was made in jest, but Apple Bloom did not find such a grim prospect amusing. After all, if something awful happened to Sweetie Belle, it was technically her fault. She had made the suggestion of all three of them moving to Canterlot, and therefore she was indirectly responsible for their fates in this city. She did not want to imagine how far her guilt would take her if one of them came to some harm.

Fortunately, Sweetie Belle herself made an appearance a moment proceeding. She was panting as she burst into the office, surprising the occupants with her arrival. Her mane, usually at least in some semblance of order, had come undone. Her cheeks were flushed with her exertion and sweat pooled leisurely at the base of her muzzle.

“You been training for a marathon?” Scootaloo joked.

Sweetie Belle inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath. She wasn’t used to galloping with such haste and, unfortunately, she had never mastered the teleportation in a way spell to compete with Princess Twilight Sparkle.

“A letter…….Fancy Pants….,” she gasped through her desperate breaths.

The fractured explanation amused Scootaloo even more, causing a massive grin to spread across her face. It was a look the other two knew well as one of impending teasing.

“That’s why you galloped all the way here?” she uttered, suppressing a laugh. “To get a letter from Fancy Pants? Ponies do crazy things for love…”

Sweetie Belle, who’d given up on correcting Scootaloo’s assumption about her relationship with Fancy Pants, ignored the mockery.

Apple Bloom shot a look of disdain at Scootaloo, silently berating her childishness. Leaving the matter for the present, she examined the pile of letters before her. Most of them were bills and half-hearted thank-you notes, but her eye came at once to a distinct envelope that must have contained a letter from Fancy Pants. She could only see a corner of the object, but the delicate curve of a letter snaking out from underneath another envelope told her all she needed. She seized the letter with her hoof and pushed it across the desk as the still panting Sweetie Belle approached.

Sweetie Belle hurriedly seized the envelope with her magic and tore it open, the action highlighted by Scootaloo chuckling in the background. She held the letter to her face, her eyes scanning the words with expectancy.
“He promised to write me when he got back from…,” she began cheerfully.
The rest of her sentence was lost. Her smile disappeared, overtaken by a confused frown. Her gaze, which had been casually scrutinizing the message, became more focused on the words themselves. Her eyes moved carefully across each sentence, the scowl augmenting at irregular intervals.

“What’s the matter, Sweetie?” Scootaloo queried, dropping her playfulness. “He’s…he’s okay, isn’t he?”

The answer did not come until a few minutes had passed. At this point, Sweetie Belle folded the letter and put it aside, her frown remaining in place. She glanced at Apple Bloom, appearing uncertain of whether or not she should address her at once or give Scootaloo a reply. Settling on the latter, her gaze went to the confused pegasus lying on the couch.

“Fancy Pants….needs to talk to us immediately. All of us.”

Scootaloo raised her eyebrow. Although Fancy Pants had said or done nothing to suggest resenting their existence, his friendship obviously lay with Sweetie Belle and neither her nor Apple Bloom. Sweetie Belle had introduced them to each other, but this was the height of any friendly contact they’d had with the rich stallion. Scootaloo preferred it this way, as she thought wealthy ponies, however amiable, were extremely boring.

“What, did somepony die?” she demanded, rolling her eyes.

Sweetie Belle reached across the room with her magic and opened the miniature fridge that stood in a corner. From it she took a bottle of cold apple cider. As the bottle floated toward her in the grip of her magic, her expression was grim.

“Yes,” she responded simply.

Apparently, not all letters in Canterlot were neutral.

The three mares politely declined the offer of drinks. Excluding a bottle or two on Hearth’s Warming Eve, Apple Bloom rarely partook in liquor. Scootaloo was adverse to alcohol due to it having a terrible effect on her choice of a partner. She often shuddered at the collected memories of unsuitable and occasionally unbalanced mares or stallions she had asked out while in the grip of intoxication. Sweetie Belle could have accepted a drink, but she felt it wasn’t the time. When they had settled themselves in the immense living room, she went straight to the questions.

“What’s going on?” she demanded sharply. “Why did you want all three of us to come? Why didn’t you call the Royal Guards? Whose been murdered?”

Fancy Pants sipped his own drink, a Green Dragon he’d prepared before the mares arrived. He didn’t seem as pressed as his letter had suggested. He looked rather serene in comparison to the hasty scrawl he’d produced for his message.

“Do you happen to know two ponies by the names of Jet Set and Upper Crust?” he inquired.

Confused, the three mares probed their memories. Sweetie Belle recalled the mention of those names when she had been a mere filly. They had found their way into a story told to her by her older sister Rarity, if her memory was not faulty. On the other hoof, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo were at a loss. The names most certainly belonged to ponies of the upper class, but other than that they were clueless.

“It hasn’t been in the newspaper yet,” Fancy Pants continued. “They’re trying to suppress it until they find the culprit. But I’m sure the press will get a hold of it long before that. The truth is, Upper Crust can’t keep her mouth shut when it concerns herself.”
Apple Bloom cleared her throat.

“Pardon me, Mr…Fancy Pants…. But your letter mentioned something about a death. Who exactly died and what does it have to do with you?”

Fancy Pants finished his Green Dragon, draining the remainder of his beverage with undignified haste. He glanced around, perhaps expecting another to materialize, but found no such miracle. Sighing, he crossed to the many shelves of expensive alcohol on the other side of the room. Summoning a glass from the kitchen, he began mixing himself another drink, speaking to the three mares sitting on the divan as he did so.

“Who died, Ms. Apple Bloom? Jet Set and Upper Crust’s butler.”

The mares were startled. They had expected to be told that a famous celebrity of some description or a wealthy heiress had been killed, as it usually went in the stories. When butlers entered crime fiction, it was normally either to provide additional drama or illustrate a backdrop of extreme wealth. And, in rare cases, it turned out at the conclusion that a butler, always for reasons of money, had committed the crime. None of them had ever heard of a butler being the victim.

“But….”

Apple Bloom’s confusion had not yet waned.

“What does that have to do with you? Did they ask you to contact us?”

Fancy Pants, his drink prepared and held in his magic, turned back to the mares. The question made him laugh, but not in a cruel manner.

“By Celestia, no!” he exclaimed. “When I mentioned you, they told me under no circumstances should I even consider getting you involved. Jet Set cursed you to Tartarus before I even finished speaking! He said asking for help from such “amateurs” was humiliating and he wouldn’t allow me to “tarnish” his good name with my nonsense.”

“Then…..?”

Apple Bloom was wondering if this was all a joke of some kind. Or a wager between Fancy Pants and Jet Set.

Scootaloo crossed her hooves.

“Do we look like members of the Royal Guard?” she uttered haughtily. “We’re private detectives. As much as I’d love to get involved with a big murder mystery, that’s not really our element. You don’t want us, you want the guards.”

Fancy Pants knew this very well, as would anypony in Equestria. The Royal Guards did not merely exist to protect royalty. They were employed on the more domestic side of things as law enforcement. All crimes committed in the land automatically fell under their jurisdiction, unless the involvement of the princesses was needed. Private detectives usually took on cases that went far below the Royal Guards’ care, such as cheating spouses. Anything beyond this went directly to the Guards, hence all those wishing to be Royal Guards were required to have at least basic investigative training.

“Normally I would agree,” admitted Fancy Pants, shrugging. “But this is hardly “normal”, Ms. Scootaloo. No, it is a very abnormal crime, yet those investigating and involved refuse to notice the abnormality. They brush it off as if it’s nothing, but I feel it is everything except nothing.”

Apple Bloom’s curiosity was officially piqued. When she had decided to pursue this career, she had based her expectations on the drama of crime fiction. She had expected murders and jewel thefts to come knocking every week or so, for adventures to wait patiently at every junction. But a month in Canterlot had destroyed her fantasy, leaving her to wallow in a tedious reality that offered none of this. She was desperate, hungry for a taste of what the books promised, a glimpse of true mystery and suspense that did not reside between the pages of a bestseller. Her refusal to abandon the profession she’d chosen, a refusal borne out of guilt when she realized that she had dragged Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo into this, was bound to pay out at some point. Although her heart was soaring with possibilities, Apple Bloom adopted a professional mannerism when she spoke, as if Fancy Pants was any other client.

“Can you describe to us, in as much detail as you can, exactly what happened, when it happened, and where it happened?”

As Apple Bloom herself turned to professionalism, the other two naturally followed suit. Sweetie Belle produced a quill and notebook from her saddlebags. Her expression impassive despite her excitement, she sat in proficient expectation. Her quill hovered in the air, poised over the blank page as she opened the notebook. Scootaloo, who’d been slouching, sat up straighter and focused her attention.

Fancy Pants hesitated, gathering his thoughts. He took a long sip of his Green Dragon, absorbing the pleasing flavor. Then he plunged into his story.

“I only heard about this second hoof, so you might not be able to trust all the details. But although Upper Crust is known for embellishing, Jet Set is a very straightforward narrator.”

He cleared his throat before continuing.

“It happened about three nights ago. Jet Set and his wife were attending a play at the local theater. I believe it was Death of a Salespony. A very interesting…well, that isn’t important. According to Jet Set, him and Upper Crust left the theater around nine o’clock. They met up with some friends and spent more time out than they’d expected to. Upper Crust thinks they got back a little past eleven, but Jet Set believes it was closer to forty after ten. Whatever time it was, all of the lights in the house were out. Jet Set went upstairs to the bedroom, while Upper Crust went into the living room. He was there for what he thinks was about five minutes before he heard his wife scream. He raced downstairs and found her standing over the body of Fine Cut, the butler. He went to fetch the Royal Guards immediately. That's basically everything that happened, at least according to Jet Set and Upper Crust.”

Apple Bloom nodded, studying Fancy Pants’ features with interest. His expression told her he wasn’t lying, or at the very least did not believe himself to be. She wanted to ask him about the strange detail he’d mentioned prior, but she laid that aside for the time being. Upholding her professional manner, she went immediately into the questioning segment.

“What was the time of death?”

“Upper Crust says the Royal Guards estimated it to be around ten o’clock.”

“Was anypony else in the house?”

“Only the maid. She told the Guards she didn’t hear or see anything around the time of the murder.”

At a motion from Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle began a fresh page in her notebook. At the very top of the page, between the first set of lines, she wrote “Maid” in her small, neat handwriting. With this concluded, she nodded at Apple Bloom, silently informing her that she could continue her questioning.

“What was the murder weapon?” inquired Apple Bloom.

She felt an odd sort of thrill in her stomach as she spoke. She had never suspected she would get the chance to ask such a question with utter seriousness.

“A large dagger, thrust directly into the stallion’s head all the way to the hilt. Magic residue was found on the dagger, so the culprit must have been a unicorn. The dagger was still in the victim’s head when Upper Crust found him.”

“Were they able to trace the dagger?”

“Oh, that wasn’t necessary. It belongs to a pair Jet Set keeps in his office. The other one was exactly where it belonged, but the display case was open and the lock was broken.”

“Had it been missing beforehoof?”

“No, it was safe in its case before the night of the murder. The murderer must have broken in, broken the lock of the display case, and stabbed the butler.”

“So there were signs of a break-in…?”

“Only one. A smashed window on the second floor in the master bedroom.”

“Was there anything special about the body?”

“I wouldn’t know. Jet Set didn’t mention anything.”

“And why did he choose to tell you all this anyway?”

Fancy Pants chuckled.

“Because it’s the most exciting thing to happen to him since he was born, I imagine.”

Apple Bloom nodded, accepting this. Most of the elite of Canterlot seemed inclined to be like this. Living a charmed lifestyle got rather boring at times, regardless of all the parties. Bits could buy many things, but events as exciting and rare as murders could not be purchased. But she did not dwell on the reason. She instead progressed to the question she’d been hoping to ask from the start.

“What exactly is this “abnormality” that everypony is ignoring?”

Fancy Pants smiled, at last coming to the part of his narrative he was keen to unveil. The interesting part that the Royal Guards had laughed off, Jet Set and Upper Crust had merely shrugged at, and the maid had had no opinion on. But it was important. It must be important.

“Upper Crust noticed it while they were waiting for the guards to arrive. Apparently, the immense grandfather clock in the living room had stopped. It was stuck on 12:00. Precisely 12:00. Upper Crust sent the maid out to check the rest of the clocks and discovered that every single one, including the pocket watch Jet Set keeps in the drawer of his desk, were stuck at 12:00.”

“They had all stopped at 12:00 in the afternoon?”

“No, that’s impossible. Everypony in the house at the time claims that the clocks were all working normally for the entire day. They couldn’t have stopped at 12:00 in the afternoon.”

“Then they stopped at 12:00 midnight…?”

“Also impossible, Ms. Apple Bloom. It wasn’t yet 12:00 midnight when Upper Crust noticed. It wasn’t even past eleven-thirty.”

Sweetie Belle, who hadn’t spoken due to being absorbed in her writing, raised her eyes from the paper to stare at Fancy Pants. Her eyes showed the confusion all three of them were feeling, although Apple Bloom was concealing hers very well. Forgetting she was meant to be taking notes, she blurted out a question.

“They were tampered with? All of them?!”

Fancy Pants nodded, his smile turning grim.

“Yes. Every single clock in the house had been tampered with.”

Apple Bloom, recovering her control of the questioning, rushed to ask Fancy Pants a follow-up.

“And how did Upper Crust react when she found out?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask Jet Set about his wife’s reaction. But….you see what I’m getting at, don’t you?”

Apple Bloom nodded, the pace of her thoughts increasing. It had sounded very clear-cut up to this point. Somepony murdered, the murder weapon found in the house, no obvious clues to the identity of the culprit. But the part about the clock bothered her. She could understand how Fancy Pants deemed it important, whilst others disregarded it. While it was strange, it did not seem like it had anything to do with the murder.

“Will you help?” queried Fancy Pants seriously. “I know this is different from your usual cases….”

But therein lies the allure, thought Sweetie Belle.

“……..but you’re the only ponies I could think of who might be able to take this clock business as a clue.”

Apple Bloom stood up, startling the other two mares. Her eyes had a unique fire to them. It was the fire of an apple harvest, the fire of preparing for the Sisterhooves Social, the fire of baking her first apple pie, of helping mix her first batch of cider, of leaving Ponyville to pursue a new dream that could only await her in Canterlot. She was ready. This was the destiny her Cutie Mark had designed for her, the destiny she’d decided she’d chase to the edges of the world. This was being a detective. A real detective.

“Can you get us in contact with that maid?” she queried. “I’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Apple Bloom was alive. Canterlot was alive. The Canterlot Mystery Company was finally breathing.

When Apple Bloom's gaze fell on the maid, her first thought was that she was about to be told a lie. Perhaps not a full lie, but a fabrication small enough to slip into an otherwise truthful statement without being detected. And it was not merely the mare's eyes that told Apple Bloom. Her somewhat hesitant introduction, her overly polite, yet direct and anxious, inquiries about their motives and positions, made it clear that she was mentally assessing them, stalling for time as she built a flawless untruth for her upcoming statement. Apple Bloom had seen it in Ponyville with the occasional apple thief, a sly, usually quite young, pony used to holding lies and truth close to one another to gain trust. A trust, Apple Bloom reflected with a smirk, Applejack and Big Macintosh never awarded them as they seized their pilfered wares from the unsuspecting criminal.

“They just want to ask you a few questions about Fine Print's death, Ms. Sunny Aura,” Fancy Pants assured the maid.

Sunny Aura, an Earth pony, winced as she swallowed an immense gulp of hot coffee. She appeared a bit flustered by all this. Understandable, seeing as she'd been forced to endure the undignified probing of the Royal Guards.

“I...suppose if it's only a few…,” she allowed reluctantly.

Sweetie Belle retrieved her pen and notebook yet again, beginning a fresh page for the testimony of Sunny Aura. She then stood by expectantly, waiting as usual for Apple Bloom to begin the questions.

Apple Bloom took longer than usual to speak, her eyes narrowed as she studied the maid's face. Not a beautiful face, she noted. Not completely unattractive, but average and perhaps dull in comparison to the magically-enhanced beauty of the usual mare or stallion in Canterlot. But she had ambitions in those eyes of hers. Dreams she wanted to fulfill, if only a massive bag of bits would fall into her lap on any given occasion. There was also an intelligence in those eyes, an intelligence small but thought to be large that Apple Bloom had seen in both apple thieves and regular customers alike. She might not give that impression to others, but Apple Bloom thought she ought to be careful. After a suitable interval had passed for these evaluations, she cleared her throat and began, nodding at the slightly bemused Sweetie Belle.

“What exactly were your movements on the night of the murder?” she inquired slowly.

Sunny Aura attempted to conceal her careful pause with another gulp of coffee, but Apple Bloom noted the time that passed between her question and the answer carefully. It was the pause of a mare who was setting the facts in place, aligning them with the lies.

“Jet Set and Upper Crust told me they were going out,” Sunny Aura began at last. “I had finished my duties for the day, so I decided to use my free time to get some reading done.”

“What were you reading?”

“Murder on the Friendship Express by Poetic Autumn. I'm on the last chapter.”

“Oh, really? How do you like the story so far?”

“It's complicated, but interesting. I haven't read much by Poetic Autumn, but I love her style!”

“Whose your favorite writer?”

Sunny Aura raised her eyebrows, puzzled that the questions had gone off track almost instantly.

“What does this have to do with the murder….?”

Apple Bloom blushed, appearing embarrassed. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were staring at her, the latter extremely amused by Apple Bloom's blunder. Struggling to regain her lost professionalism, she hastened to make an excuse for her abrupt change of topic.

“Um….I really like mystery novels. I always figure out the culprit near the middle, so….they're kinda my favorite thing to read.”

Sunny Aura smiled, understanding. She too was passionate about certain books and understood how one could become sidetracked by the mention of them.

Apple Bloom returned to her serious questioning, slipping the mask of professionalism back on.

“How long did you read?”

“About ten minutes. Then, since Jet Set and Upper Crust hadn't come back yet, I decided to go out for a while myself.”

“They didn't tell you how long they were going out or where they were going?”

“Nope, they never do that.”

“Why is that?”

“I don't know. I never questioned it.”

Sunny Aura downed the remainder of her coffee. She winced yet again as the hot beverage slid down her throat. It was obviously not cool enough to be imbibed, but Apple Bloom could see she was too invested in her pauses to care.

“Where did you go and when did you get back?”

“I went to Cinnamon Star's Bookstore to see if the book I ordered had come in yet. She told me it hadn't, so I browsed for a while. I returned home at about nine. I went straight up to my room after returning so I could look through the cookbook I bought.”

“Was anything amiss when you came back?”

“Nothing I can remember.”

“Were the lights on or off?”

“Definitely on. I would have noticed if the house had been dark.”

“What did you do after you finished looking through the cookbook?”

“I went to bed at about nine-thirty. I woke up later when I heard the Guards arriving. I rushed downstairs and found out that Fine Cut had been killed.”

“What was your relationship with Fine? Friends? Enemies? Lovers?”

Sunny Aura laughed at the final assumption. She reached forward and seized a doughnut from the plate in the middle of the table. She slid her hoof through the pastry and lifted it to her muzzle. It was an odd way to eat a doughnut, even for a creature without opposable thumbs, but it drew giggles from childish Scootaloo.

“Lovers?” Sunny uttered incredulously. “I hardly noticed him. He went about his duties like a perfect little machine. He never spoke to anypony unless spoken to and he never participated in idle conversation. He was the best servant anypony could ask for.”

“So he didn't have any secrets? A dark past?”

“You'd have to ask him…...if you could. He could have been a jewel thief or on the run from the law for all I knew.”

“What was his relationship with Jet Set and Upper Crust? Did he ever resent them for bossing him around?”

“I told you, he was a machine. He didn't have feelings. Jet Set could have bucked him in the muzzle and he wouldn't have flinched. Even his voice was flat.”

“Did you see him at all before he was killed? Maybe just a glimpse as you were entering the house?”

“He was in the hallway when I left. He had a pair of Jet Set's eyeglasses in his mouth. Polishing them again, I guess.”

“Who else works in the house? Is it just you and him?”

“No, there's a cook, but he only comes in four times a week. I'm in charge of the cooking on the other days. He wasn't there when the murder happened. He was supposed to be, but he had to take the day off because his mother was sick.”

“Is the cook a pegasus, Earth pony, or unicorn?”

“Unicorn.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Oh, he's a friendly guy. Cherry Hex—that's his name—has worked with Jet Set and Upper Crust for about five years, but he's not tired at all. He loves cooking for ponies as long as they appreciate his efforts. He idolizes ponies like Pinkie Pie for being able to make others happy with their food alone. I think he was married once, but it didn't work out. He won't talk about it too much.”

“Good friends, are you?”

“Not really. Cherry Hex just talks a lot.”

Apple Bloom took a deep breath. All the queries up to now had been important, but this was the most decisive of them all.

“Did anypony have a reason to want Fine Cut dead?”

Sunny Aura considered. Her eyes wandered from Apple Bloom's visage to the plate of doughnuts, supposedly idle in thought. But Apple Bloom knew better to assume this was the true reason. Sunny did not want to pit her own vulnerable gaze against Bloom's intense one.

“That's what confuses me,” responded Sunny Aura finally. “Like I said, he was a machine. The perfect servant. More like an android than a pony. One hundred percent into his work, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. I can't imagine anypony wanting to kill him. It would be as senseless as stabbing an oven.”
“As senseless as stabbing an oven”. Apple Bloom frowned, but not at the choice of phrase. She was frowning at Sunny Aura's description of the victim, attempting to fit a motive into it. But it was akin to jamming an unfit puzzle piece between two random portions of the image. Regardless of where her hoof hovered, there was simply no option for her to place the final piece. It was all very bemusing, as if the crime itself had been random. But there was no such thing as a random crime. Always, always, one could find a motive…

The interview came to an end. Sunny Aura departed, waving at Fancy Pants and the three mares as she left the coffee shop. Regardless of having to sit through yet another dull interview, she had a pleasant smile on her face. Apple Bloom watched her through the window until she melted into the crowd of bustling ponies.

After closing her notebook and tucking it away, Sweetie Belle reached into her saddlebags and produced a map. It was a large, detailed map of Canterlot not often available to the public. With much persuasion from her side, she had convinced Fancy Pants to locate one. She didn't have a frequent demand for such a map, but she liked to plan ahead. Putting the plate of doughnuts aside, she spread the immense map open on the table.

“We'll start by checking at the bookstore,” she uttered confidently.

However, Apple Bloom placed her hoof on the area of the map Sweetie Belle had been examining. The confusion over Sunny Aura's story had cleared from her face, leaving unbridled authority. The authority she had adopted at a fairly young age from watching her older sister and brother deal with hordes of apple-hungry citizens.

“Everything she said about the bookstore was true,” she replied serenely. “That wasn't what she was lying about.”

If Apple Bloom had been anypony else, Sweetie and Scootaloo would have raised questions at once. But since they knew their friend, neither of them thought to ask how she could be certain. Obediently, Sweetie Belle rolled up the map and placed it back in her bag. She retrieved her notebook yet again and opened it to Sunny Aura's page. Her eyes perused the paragraphs of information until she found one specific portion.

“Our next stop is Cherry Hex,” she decided after a moment. “He wasn't there that night, but he probably knows something. Fancy Pants, do you have his address? Do you think he'd talk to us?”

While she worked out the details with Fancy Pants, Apple Bloom thought yet again about Sunny Aura's description of the butler.

“A machine…...the perfect servant…..as senseless as stabbing an oven…..one hundred percent into his work….”

It did not make sense. Not a single part of it made sense.

“You're detectives? That's amazing! When I was a young colt, I really wanted to be a detective! I had a little magnifying glass and everything. Do you have a magnifying glass? Oh, no, that's far too cliché. Maybe a notebook and a cool hat?”

Sunny Aura hadn't been exaggerating when she claimed the cook “liked to talk”. If anything, she had been putting it lightly. Cherry Hex had not closed his mouth since the arrival of the three detectives and Fancy Pants. He had barely given them a chance to introduce themselves before he started speaking at a pace that would have put Cheese Sandwich and Pinkie Pie to shame. His voice, high-pitched but not too grating, surrounded the guests as he enthusiastically ushered them into his living room.

Is he gonna shut up? wondered Scootaloo impatiently.

Apparently he was not, for he prattled on for a good five minutes before he at last paused long enough for somepony else to jump in. In the time this took, he poured each of them a cup of tea, brought out a plate of biscuits, rearranged some books on the middle shelf of a bookcase, and settled himself in an armchair opposite the couch with a hearty grin on his features.

Apple Bloom seized the chance with ease. She knew all about taking advantage of any pause, having had to deal with customers whom spoke for what seemed like hours before they purchased any of the Apple family's wares.

“We spoke to Sunny Aura yesterday,” she explained quickly. “She mentioned you cook for Jet Set and Upper Crust four days a week.”

“She was right. It's how I earn my hay and oats! Although I do try to dress them up a little…. I'm a cook by nature, so I can't eat just plain old hay and oats. Could anypony survive on that if they had the choice, I wonder? No no, they'd get as bored as mules….”

Scootaloo, who had no qualms about interrupting, suddenly broke in.

“You were taking care of your sick mother the night of the murder, right? Tell us about that.”

Sweetie Belle, her notebook and pen as present as always, coughed to remind Scootaloo that Apple Bloom was meant to be asking questions. She thought it was best to keep the system, regardless of the suspect or the case. But when she looked at Apple Bloom expecting her to appear peeved, she was surprised to see that her friend was instead absorbed in her surroundings. Her eyes seemed to have been drawn to several paintings adorning the walls, although most of them were simply tacky watercolors of animals and flowers Sweetie Belle saw nothing strange about. Shaking off the oddness of the differing structure, Sweetie returned to her notebook promptly as Cherry Hex began to speak.

“My mother's very weak,” Cherry Hex explained. “She gets sick easily and it takes longer for her to recover than most ponies. Normally she has a live-in nurse to look after her, but the nurse hasn't been coming in lately. I received a message from my mother telling me she was sick and needed care. I rushed over immediately.”

“Sick, huh? Sick with what?”

“Fire flu. It's a horrible illness to have when you're old. You know, just two weeks ago I was worried about my mother getting something like that. She's so fragile, as I said, and fire flu loves to prey on the fragile. It's also dangerous, seeing as it turns its victims practically into dragons and makes their magic hard to….”

Scootaloo interrupted him again. She wanted to rush this interview along. This pony seemed like he could talk for two days if she didn't.

“Okay, so your mom had fire flu. And the nurse didn't give a buck?”

“She hasn't been taking care of my mother lately. I have no idea where she disappeared to and neither does my mother.”

“She skipped town? Was your mother that demanding?”

“Demanding? No, she wasn't. She never asked anything of the nurse at all. She was too kindhearted for that.”

Apple Bloom, who'd been staring intently at a portrait of a kitten as if it was filled with meaning, abruptly re-entered the interrogation. Clearing her throat, she returned her gaze to Cherry Hex. Apple Bloom swiftly stole the questioning from Scootaloo, leaping into the silence before either Cherry Hex or the orange pegasus could speak.

“Does your mother live in Canterlot?”

“No, she lives in Ponyville.”

“Why aren't you in Ponyville now? Is she better?”

“She hired a new nurse to live with her, since the old one vanished.”

“When the nurse vanished, did she take anything with her? A suitcase? A trunk? Some clothes?”

“She took all of her clothes with her in an old trunk she keeps at the foot of her bed. She also took her books and a lot of her other belongings.”

“No letter?”

“Not even a brief note. It's very confusing, isn't it? I used to think she was reliable. She was always kind to me when I visited. She made the best apple tart I've ever tasted in my entire life. And I'm a chef! Doesn't it mean something that she can impress me with a mere tart? I think she was a cook at one of her former jobs...”

Apple Bloom politely allowed him to talk for another two minutes, then seized another pause to continue her questioning.

“What do you know about Fine Cut?” she asked. “What was he like?”

“He wasn't like anything. I know that's a weird thing to say, but it's true. He was the least memorable pony I'd ever met. All he did was work. He never tried to be friends with anypony or do anything interesting. He was like a machine. A cold, heartless machine.”

There it was again. The same description given by the maid, although worded somewhat differently. Apple Bloom wondered if everypony, including his employers, thought of the butler as a mere machine. He didn't seem to have left any significant impact. He certainly didn't appear to have had enough personality to warrant being killed. Apple Bloom was again at a loss for a motive. But, determined nonetheless, she returned to her questioning.

“Did you leave in the morning, afternoon, or night?”

“The morning. I spent the afternoon and night by my mother's side.”

“Did Sunny Aura or anypony else from the house contact you at this time?”

“Nope, no letters at all. Not even a singing telegram.”

Suspicion darted across Apple Bloom's features, but she effortlessly brought them under control and became carefully indifferent. When those words had left Cherry Hex's mouth, she had seen something. A brief flash, a little thing left carelessly unguarded for half a second before it was forced back into the recesses of those eyes. She had seen it. And she knew precisely what it meant. It meant that there had been an untruth in Cherry Hex's last sentence. A lie he had left unchecked. An impulsive fabrication he realized too late could do him no favors.

“No letters?” Apple Bloom echoed casually. “Must have been lonely.”

Cherry Hex, smiling and unaware, nodded in agreement.

Apple Bloom stood up, returning his smile. The smile was half to keep his guard unchecked, and half legitimate. His information, although scarce, had aided her more than it had appeared to when placed next to the information of Sunny Aura. She was piecing something together. A mere draft, barely a theory or a solution, but something she could hold in her hooves.

“That's all the questions for now,” she told Cherry Hex. “Your help is much appreciated.”

Then, to match a lie with another lie, she adjoined,

“Your paintings are beautiful and those biscuits were delicious.”

Twelve o'clock. What was the importance of twelve o'clock? How did it answer all the questions swirling around in Apple Bloom's mind? What did it have to do with the butler? That night in bed, she found her brain was too occupied to allow her the relaxation of sleep. The little clues along the way seemed useless the more she thought about 12:00.

What happens at 12 o'clock? she wondered. 12 o'clock in the afternoon is when most of the restaurants in town begin serving lunch. 12 o'clock midnight is known as the “witching hour”. 12 o'clock in the afternoon is...is…WHAT?

Apple Bloom awoke far too early for her taste, having spent most of the night thinking and punching her pillow in frustration. Every time she attempted to focus on the testimonies of the maid and the cook, her mind kept returning to twelve o'clock. The key was there, inches from her hooves, but she did not for the life of her know which door it opened. She almost wished she could return to the monotony of lost pets and messy divorce cases. But that was impossible now. She had tasted a real case and she wasn't going to let it escape simply because it was baffling her. She practically crawled out of bed, exhausted and in a very unpleasant mood.

Breakfast was toasted hay sandwiches and orange juice, courtesy of Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle had already left for work, despite the early hour.

“Didn't sleep either, huh?” Scootaloo surmised.

Apple Bloom grunted. She took a hearty gulp of the cold orange juice, wishing it was coffee or apple cider. She was usually good in the mornings, but today her thoughts were too rampant to allow this. She ate without enthusiasm, detesting the wonderfully prepared food as she chewed and swallowed it.

“I hear ya, sister,” Scootaloo sighed, dejected. “I slept for...an hour? Two? I don't even know. This case is driving me nuts.”

Apple Bloom wanted to snap at the pegasus, but held herself back. She couldn't even bring herself to initiate an argument. She merely continued eating, crunching the toasted bread noisily. Crumbs fell liberally from her mouth as she ate.

“Who do you think did it?” asked Scootaloo curiously. “My bits are on the maid. She was in the house when the murder happened. Maybe she smashed a window to make it look like somepony broke in.”

Apple Bloom stopped chewing for a moment. A thought came to her, borne from Scootaloo's mention of Sunny Aura. Unable to taste the food as her mind worked furiously to bring about a conclusion, she swallowed the rest of her sandwich. She was thinking about the maid's testimony. The words were coming back to her in a rush, but she was examining them a bit more thoroughly than she had before. The maid had uttered something she thought a little odd. Something she had not noticed before, so focused had she been on the other, far more interesting portions of the story. But with the maid brought back into her mind, she realized precisely what it was.

“I woke up later when I heard the Guards arriving.”

A commotion. The arrival of the guards, Jet Set and Upper Crust shouting, the general cacophony proceeding the discovery of the body. Perfectly normal, nothing at all strange about it. But there was a little thing, a miniscule thing that was emerging from that innocent, utterly natural sentence.

“Screaming!” Apple Bloom blurted out.

Scootaloo blinked at her, wondering if the lack of sleep had affected her worse than she at first thought.

“Um, Bloom? You okay?”

But Apple Bloom was running away with her own thoughts. Scootaloo's concerned question came from the end of a long hallway as she pursued these enticing realizations.

“Upper Crust screamed!” Apple Bloom uttered, almost breathless. “Why didn't she hear it? Why didn't she hear Upper Crust scream? She was there, in the house…. She must have heard it! Except no, of course she didn't hear it!”

Scootaloo reached a hoof toward her rambling friend, unsure of how to reply.

“B-Bloom, do you need some….coffee…?” she offered uncertainly.

Apple Bloom was miles away, led to the corners of her own mind by her thoughts. She stood up on her chair, placing both hooves on the table and staring at something nonexistent over Scootaloo's shoulder.

“She said she heard the guards arriving! But what about the scream? No, she didn't hear the scream, but she did hear the guards arriving! It all makes sense! That was the lie! That was the lie!”

Her nostrils flared and her eyes adopted that same fire. In her excitement, she appeared almost deranged. She seized the cup of orange juice and drank it in one quick, decisive gulp. She then slammed the glass on the table with enough force to send a tiny crack up the side of it.

Scootaloo, at a complete loss, took the glass and the plate from the table. She strode over to the sink and deposited them inside, glancing over her shoulder at the Earth pony. She decided it was best to remain silent and pretend Apple Bloom wasn't shouting to herself. Doing her best to appear casual, she turned on the water and grabbed a sponge from the side of the sink.

Apple Bloom planted herself on the table itself, standing atop the piece of furniture as if it was a stage. There could be no mistake in what she was thinking. It fit too well with everything else she knew. Everything she had guessed about the maid simply by looking at her face. It was too perfect to be her imagination.

“She didn't return home!” she cried excitedly. “After the bookstore, she went somewhere else! Somewhere she wouldn't dare admit to us or the guards. That's why she didn't hear the scream! It was too late...too late for the scream by the time she snuck back in!”

Finally, Scootaloo began paying attention to what Apple Bloom was saying. Her words no longer sounded like tired rambling. They sounded like an actual, real theory, something to aid the case. Turning away from the dishes, she addressed the thrilled mare standing on the table.

“You're saying the maid lied about coming back home after the bookstore?” she queried.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Apple Bloom answered, nodding enthusiastically. “But that's not all. She lied about something else, too.”

Scootaloo looked pleased with herself at this information. She turned off the water in the sink, smirking in delight.

“I knew it was her!” she announced proudly. “I said it two minutes ago and I was right. Heh, I guess my deductions are just as good as yours, Bloom.”

But Apple Bloom shook her head. She was returning to the world entirely, her thoughts settling down and allowing her to pay attention. She leapt off the table, landing on all fours on the floor. Her feeling of motivation had completely dissolved her tiredness, leaving her as fresh as she normally was in the mornings.

“No, she didn't kill the butler,” she uttered seriously. “She might have lied, but I don't think it has anything to do with the murder. She was doing it out of reflex. There are things she doesn't want just anypony to know about her.”

She rubbed her chin with her hoof, thinking yet again about the maid's words. She thought she had a feeling about what the maid didn't want her to know, but she couldn't be one hundred percent sure. She needed to do a little digging. Fortunately, she knew precisely which pony was going to help her.

“But what she lied about might actually connect to the murder,” she admitted. “She just doesn't know it….”

Apple Bloom canceled all of the other mundane cases she had planned out for the day. It hurt her to do it, as she prided herself on taking any case, but she thought a murder was usually more important than a missing cat. With her agenda cleared, she was able to contact Fancy Pants and ask him for some information.

Fancy Pants was skeptical when she told him what she needed him to do, but he got to work on it at once. With his many connections, he was able to, in mere hours, compile an impressive amount of information about Sunny Aura.

After reading only one page of this extensive look into the maid's history and her relations, Apple Bloom had all she needed.

Apple Bloom met with Sunny Aura at the same coffee shop later that day. She chose to meet with her alone, despite Scootaloo's protests. She thought a one-on-one conversation, rather than the intimidating presence of four ponies, would aid her in confirming what she suspected was the grim truth. She greeted the other mare formally, her face a mask of seriousness. This would not be pleasant for either of them, but it had to be done.

“What is this about?” queried Sunny Aura. “I told you every--”

Seldom the rude pony, Apple Bloom interrupted.

“You didn't tell me that you and Cherry Hex had a child!”

Sunny Aura froze, her hoof hovering over her steaming cup of coffee. The poised hoof trembled, her eyes darting to Apple Bloom's. She was unable to speak, barely able to breathe. But Apple Bloom did not need her to speak. Her reaction had told her more than words could.

“Cherry Hex doesn't know, does he?” uttered Apple Bloom gently. “When he asked if you were pregnant, you probably lied. My information told me that you had given birth to a filly and the father was unknown. But I know it was Cherry Hex. You...were in love with him.”

Sunny Aura's hoof fell limply to the table. Lies were useless. Pretending was useless. She had given herself away with that tremble, with that expression that had slipped past her guard. Beaten, her eyes filled with pain, she nodded once at the Earth pony across from her.

“I couldn't tell him,” she explained quietly. “I wasn't in love with him anymore. I don't know if I was ever in love with him or if it was just the alcohol….”

Her smile was bitter. She was remembering the events of that night. Not the night of the murder, but the night she made an immense mistake she only realized far too late.

“You had the foal and sent her away,” Apple Bloom uttered, piecing things together. “To live with a relative, I assume. A relative nearby, so you could visit her.”

“Yes. My sister. She promised not to tell anypony. I...was ashamed.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Four years.”

“What exactly did you tell your sister? Can you remember?”

“I told her that I'd had a foal with a stallion I didn't love and who certainly didn't love me. She was very sympathetic.”

Apple Bloom nodded. If it had been her and Applejack, she imagined that her older sister would have been sympathetic as well.

“You were visiting your child that night, weren't you?”

Sunny Aura sighed, resisting the urge to hang her head. After all these years, the shame still hung over her. It nearly suffocated her at some moments, yet by some miracle she managed to continue on normally.

“Yes, I was visiting her. I had been too busy to visit her those past two weeks. I wanted to see her at least once.”

“And Cherry Hex knows none of this? He doesn't know about the child at all? You're one hundred percent sure he has no idea?”

“How could he? Only my sister Daisy Aura knows.”

“Did you tell your sister the exact name of the stallion?”

“No, I left that out. My sister doesn't ask a lot of questions. But I think she guessed, based on what I let slip once or twice, that it was somepony in the house.”

She adjoined, rather timidly,

“How did you guess it was Cherry Hex?”

Apple Bloom smiled, without humor.

“You said you knew all of that because Cherry Hex likes to talk. I met him myself and I can confirm he likes to talk. But his love of talking is more like rambling than anything else. And even though he talks a lot, he can answer questions normally without going off on a tangent. The things you revealed about him seemed more...intimate. I had a feeling you were closer to him than you wanted to admit.”
Sunny Aura nodded, smiling a little at her own stupidity.

“Is that all?” she asked. “Are there any other secrets about my past you want to dig out?”

She spoke lightly, but Apple Bloom had a feeling that she had, without ever lifting a hoof, driven a knife into a very old wound. She'd met mothers like this in Ponyville, albeit it was rare in their relatively small town. Applejack, forever honest regardless of her protective nature, had told her bluntly that mothers who found themselves in such trouble were to be pitied and they often did not want anypony, even innocent fillies, prying into it. The shame was almost physical, harsh and suffocating even as years passed, Apple Bloom had come to realize based on Applejack's words. Mothers like Sunny Aura felt as if they'd done their child a disservice before they were even born. Apple Bloom, offering a smile of pure empathy, leaned forward and patted Sunny.

“Your daughter loves you,” she assured the distressed pony. “You made a mistake and you might blame yourself for bringing her into this kind of family, but she's gonna grow up fine. I've seen piglets come into the world, the only member of their litter to survive. No siblings, just a sad mother with only one baby when she expected a lot more. And you know what? That lonely piglet is always fine, even if it's just her and her mother.”

All the regret and bitterness left Sunny Aura's smile. Something about Apple Bloom's distinctive country accent, the obvious care in her eyes, and the comfort of her hoof, alongside her words, allowed her to hold back her tears.

“You don't think she's innocent just because she's a mother, do you?”

Sweetie Belle was staring at Apple Bloom incredulously, fresh from her most recent shift at work. She was still attired in the familiar, and somewhat uncomfortable, waitress unicorn. After a rather difficult work day, she did not have energy to waste on removing articles of clothing. However, she was more than willing to listen to any developments in the case. Apple Bloom's story had surprised her, but she was utterly shocked by Apple Bloom's claim that she did not suspect Sunny Aura in the slightest.

Apple Bloom shuffled the papers on her desk, more to occupy her hooves than because it was required. She was happy the three of them were assembled, but unhappy that Sweetie Belle thought her deductions so shallow.

“No, I do not,” she replied, insulted. “I looked into her eyes, Sweetie. She's not the one.”

The words failed to influence Sweetie Belle's doubt. She opened the bottle of cider she had retrieved with her magic and took a long gulp, eying her trustworthy Earth pony friend. Apple Bloom, most likely due to a life of farm life, was the hardest of the group, but Sweetie Belle would be a fool to assume she couldn't be swayed by an image of purity.

Scootaloo voiced Sweetie Belle's thoughts, snorting in disbelief. She too held a bottle of apple cider, the majority of it drained long before Sweetie Belle obtained hers.

“Eyes can lie!” she objected. “I should know.”

Apple Bloom shook her head. The two of them did not understand, but there was no possible way for them to grasp her abilities without being inside her head. It was deeper than a mere glance in somepony's direction. In that glance lasting barely a second, she could see a pony's entire emotional history, from birth to death. Putting this into words was an impossibility, even when addressing her best friends.

“They can't lie to me,” she responded firmly.

She was clearly set in her decision. Scootaloo was powerless to talk her out of it, despite her own unwavering belief about the obvious culprit being guilty. However, even though the cause was lost and then some, Scootaloo made one last stab at bringing Apple Bloom around to the logical side of the mystery.

“Bloom, how do you know your talent even works on ponies? I mean, before you left the farm, you were using it on apples. Apples and ponies are different. You can't look at a pony and instantly know if they're ripe or not. And your Cutie Mark...”

At last, they had come to it. The point one of them, most likely Scootaloo, had been destined to make since the beginning of their venture into the detective business. The argument Apple Bloom had been dreading, had expected far earlier in their endeavor. Verbally powerless, Apple Bloom walked out from behind the desk and stood in silent defiance before her two friends. She turned slightly, displaying the image that had appeared on her flank nine years previous. It contained a traditional magnifying glass, suggesting a skill to do with details. But Scootaloo was correct. For the magnifying glass was pictured in the process of examining an apple. It indicated a skill to do with seeing imperfections or otherwise in apples. However, Apple Bloom's talent was more broad than this. She could look at an apple and see all of its flaws, from the obvious to those concealed at its core. She could also look at a pony and see things, things that should have been invisible, yet leapt to her eye immediately. When she realized this was part of her talent, her mind was made up. She would not spend the rest of her life on an apple farm. She would become a detective, a detective whose special talent was seeing details, both hidden and displayed, on a pony's features.

“Scoots, you gotta trust me,” was Apple Bloom's only defense. “Sunny Aura didn't kill the butler. She wasn't lying about the foal or Cherry Hex. Everything she told me was the honest truth.”

She adjoined carefully,

“But I think she had something to do with the murder.”

Scootaloo, distracted from any further protests, perked up immediately at this information. She trotted forward excitedly, abandoning her half-finished apple cider as she approached the other mare.

“She was an accomplice?” she guessed excitedly. “She let somepony into the house, then he or she killed the butler? Or did she change the clocks? I bet she totally...”

“Magic!” Sweetie Belle interrupted.

“What about it, Sweetie?”

Sweetie Belle jumped off the couch. She left her own apple cider nestled against the cushions. Sighing at Scootaloo's current dullness of mind, she joined the others at the desk. For demonstration rather than purpose, she used her own magic to seize a crumpled sheet of paper that had missed the wastebasket. With precision she'd learned from Rarity, she began to carefully fold the paper into the shape of a swan.

“Hooves, remember?” she uttered in explanation. “They're not the best for...delicate work. If you want to change the time on a pocket watch, you're going to need magic. Earth ponies seldom even buy pocket watches.”

Scootaloo wasn't deterred. If she couldn't have Sunny Aura as the culprit, she'd gladly accept her as an accomplice.

“Then she let whoever killed the butler into the house,” she replied impatiently.

“Why the hay would she do that? If she wasn't lying about anything else, she had no reason to want the butler dead. And what about the smashed window? Are you going to just ignore that?”

“You can fake a smashed window, you dictionary!” Scootaloo snapped, her impatience rising. “She could have smashed it later from outside to make it look like somepony had broken in. Maybe she thought it would be mistaken for a robbery gone wrong.”

“Okay, that's possible,” Sweetie Belle allowed, still folding the paper. “But why would she let the murderer in? Are you saying she planned this?”

Scootaloo was beginning to doubt her own theory, but she plowed ahead as if her faith in it was unshakeable.

“I-I don't know!” she stammered. “Maybe..maybe she didn't know the pony was going to kill the butler! Maybe it was her sister or somepony else she knew.”

At these words, Apple Bloom started as if she'd just been slapped. She had been listening to the argument with amusement, entertained by Sweetie and Scootaloo's clash of opinions as always. But Scootaloo's words drove themselves into her brain so abruptly and with such strength that she literally reeled. She stumbled backwards on her hooves, deaf to the shouting pair. She began to quiver, her eyes wide. The cogs in her brain were turning with such speed that it was on the verge of making her ill. She found her breath would hardly come, that her brow was lousy with sweat.

It made sense. It made too much sense for it to be true, and yet… No, there were no mistakes. There was nothing, not even a single whisper of an inconsistency. It was all coming at once, rushing into the corners of her eyelids, down her throat and into her stomach, mercilessly sour yet wonderfully sweet. Apple Bloom could see it. She could see it all happening, the events leading up to it, the fear in the victim's eyes as that perfect machine, that secretly flawed machine, recognized true, primal horror….

“He's going to tell her!” she choked out, barely whispering. “He's going to…..”

She didn't care about Scootaloo or Sweetie Belle. All that existed in the world was this mystery, this mystery screaming at her to make haste. It was her duty to solve it, her duty to protect. It was calling to her, begging her to do everything she could….!

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo stopped their argument at the sound of frantic hooves. The bewildered mares turned and saw Apple Bloom galloping from the office, not even bothering to shut the door behind her as she departed.

As Apple Bloom ran, she silently thanked Fancy Pants a hundred times over. She thanked him for introducing them to this case, for requesting their help, for arranging the interviews. But most of all, she thanked that wonderful unicorn for providing her with information about Sunny Aura. Thorough information that contained, most important of all, her sister's address. By doing exactly as he was told and beyond, Fancy Pants might have saved Sunny Aura's life. If she could only get there in time!

Apple Bloom was fit to collapse by the time she reached the cottage, her breath coming in ragged gasps and her coat soaked with perspiration. Her hooves wobbled uncertainly, threatening to give way at the opportunity for a break as she reached the door. But she would not allow them to fail her so close to her destination. Summoning strength one could only obtain from years of apple-bucking and hard labor, she slammed her back hooves into the closed door. The force of the blow caused the wood to yield immediately, splitting down the middle and falling backwards into the room. She charged forward, nearly blind in her exhaustion.

The scene was not a pretty one. Sunny Aura was standing in the middle of the room, panic in her eyes. She seemed unable to speak, her mouth moving soundlessly as she attempted a protest or an explanation. She was backing away from the larger figure, her ears flattened in terror and her position of an almost feline nature as she retreated. The figure in question was Cherry Hex, his eyes blazing with the fury of a stallion wronged. His horn was glowing with impending magic.

Both ponies turned as the door was blasted open and an Earth pony charged into the room. Cherry Hex turned his horn towards the intruder, but he my as well have aimed a stick at the furious pony. Mindless of the threat, Apple Bloom did not pause. She continued in her charge, her head lowered as she galloped over the threshold and past the ruined door. A blast of magic from the stallion's horn shot past her and grazed her ear, but she barely felt the heat or the sting. Apple Bloom plowed directly into Cherry Hex, driving his bigger form back with incredible effort. The two ponies slammed into the wall opposite, Cherry Hex taking the worst of the impact. His head banged against the wall hard enough to leave a bruise. He slumped to the floor, unconscious, the glow from his horn steadily dying.

Despite Apple Bloom being the one drained, it was Sunny Aura whom collapsed first. Her hooves gave up on her and she plunged to the floor, conscious yet unable to move in her shock. The rush of emotions was too much for her. In less than a moment tears were running down her muzzle, her hooves across the top of her head as she sobbed.

Apple Bloom wanted to comfort her immediately, but her body would not allow it. She leaned against the wall, practically dazed. She was surprised she hadn't fainted, having run all the way to this cottage and then head-butted a would-be murderer with enough force to knock him out. She struggled to regain her breath, her vision nonetheless swimming at the edges. Her eyes fell on Cherry Hex's unconscious body. She could hardly believe she'd gotten there in time to prevent the murder.

“Wh-why?” wailed Sunny Aura through her tears. “Why? Why? Why? Oh Celestia…..oh sweet, merciful Celestia….”

Apple Bloom took one immense gulp of air. Finally able to move again, she made her way, on shaking hooves, to the crying mare. Seeing the pony's distress, she would have given anything to have spared her. In a way, she almost was of the opinion that she shouldn't have agreed to investigate this mystery. It had ended in so much pain for Sunny Aura, yet more agony to place on top of her previous troubles. But with a glance at the body of Cherry Hex, she assured herself she had done the right thing. Leaning over, she gently wiped away the sobbing mare's tears with a hoof.

“He thought the baby was Fine Cut's, didn't he?” she uttered quietly.

Sunny Aura nodded, the flow of her tears increasing. She was not just crying due to the unexpected attack. She was crying about all that had led to it. Things that could have been prevented, if only she'd been more cautious and less impulsive all those years ago. Her sobs were laced with a regret too deep for Apple Bloom to ever comprehend.

Apple Bloom never wanted to experience this amount of regret. And as she gazed at the sobbing Sunny Aura, she prayed that, as a detective and a friend, she never would.

Fancy Pants was kind enough to throw the CMC a party, but the celebration was clouded with misery. Even though the three detectives were relieved to have solved the case, it had not been a happy case to solve.

“I...I feel sorry for Sunny Aura,” Scootaloo confessed.

This was a welcome change, seeing as she'd suspected her up until the true culprit was revealed. But she did not merely pity Sunny Aura. She pitied that poor, young filly whose father had hadn't known she existed for years and whom had nearly lost a mother to that very same father. She couldn't imagine how awful it would be when the filly was old enough to comprehend the extent of it. She personally knew what it was like to be betrayed by a parent. To prevent herself from crying, she accepted a cupcake from Fancy Pants and hastily shoved it in her mouth.

“We all do, Scoots,” Sweetie Belle replied grimly.

She turned to Apple Bloom, whom had been lying on the couch refusing to eat or drink since the “party” had begun. She was relieved that this celebration consisted of only the three of them and Fancy Pants.

“So what was the big secret about 12:00?” she asked. “You never told us how it fit into everything.”

Apple Bloom sighed. Her encounter with Cherry Hex had been over a week ago and she was still dwelling on it. She had managed to attack a murderer without the slightest inkling of fear, paying no attention to the magic he had at his disposal. It felt unreal, as if she'd been outside of her body at the time. Sweetie's question yet again brought her back to that day, the pain and the bravery manifesting themselves inside of her as if she was reliving it. But she answered, offering a smile as the big reveal passed her lips.

“It didn't fit into everything,” she responded calmly. “12:00 meant nothing.”

Sweetie Belle gasped, stepping backward as if she'd been struck.

“Then...then what….? Then why?”

Patiently, Apple Bloom related to them the events of that night as she understood them. Until now, she hadn't bothered to give the others the whole story. After her encounter with Cherry Hex, she had sought Sunny Aura's sister and found her, along with her niece, shopping at a local boutique for what was apparently Sunny Aura's birthday present. She had sent the astonished mare to summon the guards, informing her that there was currently a stallion, bound tightly and a thick cloth wrapped around his horn to prevent further magic, in her living room. She had then returned to the office and, when pressed for an explanation, chose to only tell her friends that Cherry Hex was going to be arrested.

“Cherry Hex killed the butler thinking he was the father of Sunny Aura's foal,” she explained. “Why did he think this? Because Sunny Aura's sister had told him this due to the fact that she thought it was true. Sunny Aura told her sister that somepony in the house she worked in was the father of the child. Out of the two suspects, her sister guessed it was Fine Cut.”

“But why him?” demanded Scootaloo, bemused.

“Because he's the exact kind of stallion who would do something like that: Get a mare pregnant and then disregard her and the child as if they were nothing. He was a machine. A soulless machine, dedicated to his job and incapable of loving anything else. Applejack always told us to love our responsibilities, but love our fellow ponies more or else we'd become robots with no room in our hearts for anything except what we were born to do.”

“That makes sense,” admitted Scootaloo. “But why would Cherry Hex kill the butler? I know abandoning the mother of your foal is bad, but it's not something you should die for. And why'd he try to kill Sunny Aura?”

Apple Bloom sighed again, thinking sadly of misguided Cherry Hex and his actions.

“I noticed a lot of portraits in his house. Most of them were of baby animals and flowers. He might act silly, but at heart Cherry Hex is a fatherly pony. He desperately wants to be a parent, but luck was never on his side. I'm guessing the marriage Sunny Aura mentioned fell through because his wife was infertile and it broke his heart. He never got his chance to have that perfect foal he could raise as his own. He had no idea the foal Sunny Aura had had was his because she hadn't told him. Then her sister fed him some misinformation and he got…..furious. He's an impulsive pony. If rage overtakes him, he can end up doing things he'll regret later. In this case, he murdered the butler.”

“Um, and Sunny Aura…?” prodded Scootaloo, still perplexed.

“He went to see her to confess about what he had done. He was probably guilty because he thought he'd killed somepony she loved. But she must have told him the foal was actually his. And again, the fury overtook him. He couldn't stand the realization that he, a stallion who'd always wanted to have his own foal, who was desperate to be a parent, had been kept away from his own. He probably also thought that Sunny Aura had had her sister intentionally feed him misinformation to make sure he never found out the truth.”

“That seems believable,” accepted Fancy Pants, scowling. “But are you telling me that somepony went to the trouble of tampering with all those watches for nothing?”

Apple Bloom's smile widened. Something about outsmarting Fancy Pants was particularly pleasing to her ego. She suspected it was because he was wealthy, even though he was a generally softhearted pony.

“I said 12:00 meant nothing. The pony who tampered with the clocks just wanted us to think it meant something. It was a childish little idea Cherry Hex had.”

“Then there was another time he was trying to distract us from?” surmised Sweetie Belle.

“Nope, it was even more clever and childish than that. You actually gave me the idea when you pointed out that only a unicorn could have tampered with the clocks. The unicorn who tampered with them most have been the killer, right? The butler was definitely an Earth pony, based on what Sunny Aura said about him carrying the eyeglasses in his mouth. And she herself was an Earth pony. Cherry Hex tampered with all of the clocks to make sure nopony would suspect Sunny Aura if her past was discovered.”

Recognizing a loose end in the story, Scootaloo asked another question.

“But Cherry Hex was taking care of his mother in Ponyville. He has an alibi.”

Apple Bloom had expected this to come into it. Unabashed, she tore down Cherry Hex's alibi just as she had in her mind. It felt unbelievably satisfying to be able to explain every little flash of doubt, every lie she'd been fed, every confusing detachment from the truth the suspects had given her. The fact she had realized it in that one single moment was a shock to her even now. Being a detective truly did seem to be her destiny.

“I'm sure if the Royal Guards look into it, they'll find out he did leave in the morning to take care of his sick mother. But the nurse didn't “vanish”. She quit because she couldn't stand how demanding his mother was. Find me a sick, extremely old mare who isn't demanding and I'll find you an apple without a core. Cherry Hex probably only stayed long enough to make sure everything was alright with the new nurse. It's only natural for a stallion to worry about whose taking care of his sick mother. Then he returned to Canterlot because he knew he had a job to do. But do you know whose cottage is near the train station? The one owned by Daisy Aura. He probably met her coming back, talked with her a little, found out about the foal, and things went bad from there. You know when he mentioned not getting any letters? He didn't receive any letters while he was with his mother, but he most likely got one that morning telling him about the new nurse. He probably burnt it when he realized it might poke a hole in his story. And you know the broken lock and the smashed window? I bet he thought ponies wouldn't suspect him either if he made it look like somepony had broken in.”

This wasn't the time to grin, but Scootaloo's couldn't help it. She shook her head, an immense smirk on her face. It seemed extraordinary that she could have met such a pony while in Ms. Cheerilee's class. They had been mere foals at the time, innocent to the world outside of their wants. How that had changed. How pleasant it was to be sitting here in this relatively fancy living room, drinking apple cider, eating pastries, and enjoying both the elation and the sorrow of having solved a murder case.

It was precisely 12:00 in the afternoon on a beautiful Saturday morning when the CMC clinked their glasses, toasting a job well done and a life that was just beginning.

Dear Applejack,

I'm not sure if the Pony Press or any of the other local newspapers are running the story, so I've enclosed the article straight from the Canterlot Times. In case you don't want to read the whole thing, I'll summarize: ME AND THE CMC SOLVED OUR FIRST REAL CASE! I know it's mean to get all excited about a murder, but I can't help being happy. Not only did we solve an actual case, it was in the newspaper! On the front page! Jet Set and Upper Crust are just about green. The article called them “the rich couple” and didn't even mention their names. But me, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle were mentioned nine times (Sweetie Belle counted)! I'm not gonna lie, though. A lot of it was pretty scary and all of it was serious. Looking back on it now, I'm surprised I was that brave. But you know what, Big Sis? I think the reason I could do it was because I was thinking of you. I just thought “What would Applejack do?” and my hooves started moving on their own. You really taught me a lot, AJ, and I'm still learning every day. This case showed me how tragic some ponies' lives can be. I guess Canterlot ain't as glamorous as it was when you last visited it. Anyway, here's some stuff the article didn't mention: Cherry Hex was found guilty of murder and attempted murder by Princess Luna. He's been sentenced to life in the dungeon. Sunny Aura quit her job with Jet Set and Upper Crust, leaving the two of them servantless. Believe it or not, they blamed ME for that. Said I should have kept my sorry flank out of it. Some ponies have their priorities mixed up in this weird city. Sunny Aura just sent me a letter to say that she's moving herself and her foal to a quiet village someplace far away from Canterlot. Oh, and in case you're wondering, Jet Set and Upper Crust didn't pay us for our work. But Fancy Pants insisted on giving us a nice three hundred bits, since he was the one who asked us to investigate. That's pretty much it, Big Sis. I hope Little Macintosh is doing well and the farm is alright. Please write back soon.

Love,

Apple Bloom