The Fillydelphia City Library was a two-story brick building sitting on an island of a city block near a busy intersection. Somepony had taken the time to try to make the building somewhat attractive to the eye; the first floor featured a reading room with floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the stacks of books waiting to be plucked from the shelves and read, there were rows of surprisingly healthy flowers lining the building perimeter, and an artful abstract statue made of trash can lids, weather vanes, pipes and other junk had been placed in the front yard, with a sign declaring that this was the work of local colt Spring Smith, the winner of a special art contest.

Up on the second floor, Twilight levitated several newspapers, books and sheets of paper off the shelves and trotted over to a table, placing the books down on top of it.

“Wow, Twilight, do you really need all of those?” Spike asked, staring at the stack incredulously. The pile of papers was almost as tall as he was.

“I know we’re supposed to be looking for information on Anchor Point and his wife,” Twilight stated, settling down into a chair and pulling the first book off the pile, “but I’d like to take this opportunity to learn more about the history of this city, and why crime is such a big problem here. It might be useful later.” She opened up the book, which was a hoofwritten records of city marriages, and began to flip through it, running her hoof down the columns of names and dates.

Spike frowned at the pile of books before turning to Phillip and Flash, who had both plucked books and settled down to examine them. “So, how can you be sure that that’s not Anchor Point?”

“The telephone on the desk,” Phillip replied. “Everything on the desk was covered in blood except that: blood had been wiped off the handle. Somepony touched it to make a call after the gunshot. And then there was a piece of the dead pony’s head stuck behind some grey matter. It was pale green; doesn’t match Anchor’s coat color.”

“Here’s my theory as to what happened,” Flash stated. “The evidence indicates that somepony broke into Point’s house, probably a gang member out to kill him. Anchor surprised him in the office and killed him. Knowing that his life was in danger, he decided to try to fake his own death: he dragged the body outside, cut off the cutie marks and set it on fire, then called a friend and bailed.” He looked back down at the papers. “Now all that’s left for us to try to find him before the City Guards or the gangs do.”

“He can’t have that many ‘friends’ left. I doubt he would have sought refuge with the gangs or the Guard,” Phillip mumbled, stroking his chin with a hoof.

“Right. Which is why we’re looking for close friends, coworkers and family first,” Flash agreed.

“I found her,” Twilight declared, her hoof pointing at a line in the record book. “Anchor Point married Lemon Crust five years ago.”

“Lemon Crust…” Flash murmured, thinking. “I know I’ve heard that name…” He plucked out a large binder and opened it up to reveal a collection of Fillydelphia Herald articles from the past several years. He flipped through it quickly, scanning all of the food and entertainment sections. “Ah, here she is.” He pointed at a recipe column in the paper entitled “Lemon Crust’s Weekly Recipes.”

“Mom took recipes from her all the time,” Flash said with a small smile. “In fact, I think she wrote a book.”

“We need to find her as soon as possible,” Twilight declared. “She may know where Anchor is, or, at least, somepony who he might contact.”

“There’s a phone number here,” Spike said, pointing to a contact number inviting readers to deliver any questions or compliments to be passed onto the local chef.

“I’ll call them,” Flash said, rising and walking over to a public pay phone booth in the corner. Dropping a bit into the slot, he lifted the hoofset and dialed the number in. The phone picked up after three rings.

“Hello, Fillydelphia Herald?” he asked. “Yes, I’d like to speak to Lemon Crust. I had a few questions for…” He paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. Slowly, his face fell. “Oh. Oh, I see. Thank you.” He hung up and turned back to the group.

“Lemon Crust died of breast cancer a few months ago,” he stated.

“Oh, no,” Twilight groaned, lowering her face onto her hooves. “Now what do we do?”

“We keep digging,” Phillip said. “There has to be somepony, somewhere, that Anchor would’ve called.” He paused for a moment, then grabbed the binder of newspaper and started flipping through it. “Where are the obituaries?”

The four of them started digging through the pile of articles, searching through the two-year-old articles. Before long, they had a sizable pile of discarded obituaries laying on the table that only grew larger as the minutes grew longer.

“I didn’t think it’d be this hard!” Spike groaned after twenty minutes of searching.

“Big city. Lot of ponies die every day,” Phillip pointed out calmly. “Wait, I found it.” He pulled out a single article dated three months ago and showed it to everypony. The photograph that accompanied the article was a closeup of the smiling pink unicorn with long yellow hair and emerald eyes.

“‘We regret to inform readers that Lemon Crust passed away yesterday of breast cancer,’” Twilight read out loud. “‘She had been fighting the cancer for over two years...noted for her donations to charity...leaves behind her husband, sales broker Anchor Point, and her brother, Plum Dessert!”

“That’s it!” Flash cried. “We need to find Plum and question him.”

Spike dashed over to the phone and yanked out the phonebook, rapidly flipping through it. “Found the number!” he declared after a minute of searching, his claw hovering over a line. “Huh. It’s just the phone number, no address.”

Flash walked over to the phone again and inserted another bit, dialing the number in. The phone rang for several seconds, during which Flash’s frown grew deeper. Finally, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Answering machine,” he said to the others. “‘Hello, Mr. Dessert? This is Sergeant Flash Sentry. I’d like to speak to you regarding the death of your brother-in-law, Anchor Point. If you could please call me back as soon as possible, it would be greatly appreciated. I’m staying at the Universalist Temple, the number there is 516-4673. Thank you for your time.” He hung up and sighed. “Well, that’s that. All we can do is wait for him to contact us for now.”

“Good. Let’s go back to the Temple. I can start doing some more research there,” Twilight declared, gathering up her books in her magic.

Twenty minutes later, the group was walking up to the Universalist Temple, having been guided to the haven by Flash. Twilight hadn’t spoken a word during the trip; her nose was buried deep in a book that she was levitating in front of her face.

“We’re back now, Twilight,” Spike said, patting her on the shoulder to try to get her attention.

“Hmm? Right,” Twilight muttered, not even looking up. “You know, if more City Guard divisions would base their work in concrete research and studies, they’d be much more efficient.”

“I’m sure they would, Twilight,” Flash stated, pushing the doors open and entering the sanctuary of the temple. Joyful Sound was serenely dusting the pews. Alerted by the sound of their hoofsteps, the Pastor looked up, her face creasing into concern when she Phillip and Flash’s injuries. “Gang fight, dears?”

“Don’t worry, Pastor, the other guys got worse,” Flash said.

“I’d believe it,” Joyful said in a tone that clearly stated her disapproval as she examined Flash’s cheek wound. “You should probably replace those bandages, it looks like it’s bleeding again.”

“Good idea, thanks,” Flash said, heading up the stairs to the guest room. The others followed him up, Twilight still nose deep in her book.

“Sure hope this doesn’t become another scar,” Flash muttered, touching the wound as he rounded the landing.

“I think they make you look cool,” Spike commented. “Kind of like a comic book character!”

Flash chuckled once. “Thanks, Spike, I—” He froze on the hallway, causing Twilight to bump into him.

“What is it?” she asked in annoyance, looking up. She quickly saw what the problem was: the door to the guest room was wide open, even though they had locked it when they’d left that morning. Dashing forward, the four examined their room.

The scene was not unlike a picture puzzle: two rooms, both seemingly the same, but with a number of differences between them. In this case, the sole difference between the room as it was and the room as they had left it was a note pinned to the wall with a black knife. Angry black block lettering was splashed across the page. Rushing forward, Flash tore the note off and read it out loud.

“Go back to Ponyville tonight. If you keep sticking your muzzles into other ponies’ business, it won’t just be you that suffers.”

The note crinkled loudly as Flash’s grip on it subconsciously tightened. “Easy, Flash,” Phillip stated, carefully taking the note from him. “No point getting angry.”

“We need to find someplace else to stay,” Flash stated. “If they know where we’re staying, they could come back at any time.”

“I’m not scared of some punks!” Spike declared, puffing his chest out to make himself appear larger.

“I know you’re not,” Flash said. “But there are risks we can’t take.”

“We’re no safer here than we are anywhere else,” Phillip pointed out, already studying the note with his loupe glasses.

“Phillip’s right,” Twilight stated, subconsciously drawing Spike closer to her with a wing. “But we should tell Pastor Joyful.”

Flash rushed to the landing. “Pastor!” he called down. “Did anypony else come upstairs today?”

Joyful climbed partway up the stairs. “No, it’s been quiet all day. Why?”

Flash glanced up at the others before answering. “Somepony broke into our room while we were gone.”

“Oh, dear,” Joyful said, her eyes widening in shock. “Did they take anything?”

Twilight quickly checked their supplies. “No, nothing. They just left the note.”

“Pastor, we shouldn’t stay here,” Flash said. “We’re putting you in danger by—”

“Hush, child,” Joyful cut him off with a kind smile. “Your concern for me is appreciated, but I am not afraid. You shall stay here for the time being, and I shall take care of you. Now, let’s get you some tea.” She calmly descended back down the stairs.

“But, Pastor—” Flash started to call after her, before sighing and rolling his eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he muttered to himself.

Phillip set the note down onto the desk, continuing to study it. Twilight gently pried the knife off the wall and floated it before her eyes. “Hmm,” she mused, lifting up the book that she had been reading and flipping to another page. She studied the page carefully for a minute, then closed her eyes in concentration and began channeling magic to her horn.

“What’re you doing?” Flash asked.

“There’s a spell in here that reacts with hoofprints to make them visible,” Twilight replied, her magic swirling around her horn. The lavender streaks danced around the floating knife before setting on the handle, attracted to the invisible streaks of sweat and grease left behind by the wielder. A glowing partial hoofprint appeared on the handle.

“Wow!” Spike said in obvious amazement. Twilight managed a proud smile.

Phillip carefully took the knife, closely studying the imprint. “Can this spell work on any surface?” he asked.

“In theory, yes,” Twilight nodded, “although I may need to adjust the spell slightly depending on material, time since imprint, exposure to the elements—”

“Good,” Phillip interrupted, carefully placing the knife into a plastic baggie that he extracted from his vest.

Twilight took out a first aid kit. “Flash, come here. Let me replace that bandage.” She levitated out a roll of gauze and ripped off a piece, gently peeling off Flash’s dirty bandage and replacing it with the fresh dressing.

“Thank you,” Flash smiled. “Now how about we get some lunch?”

Everypony found this idea agreeable. Several servings of pasta and carrots later, they settled down to wait in the pastor’s office for Plum Dessert’s call. Twilight set herself on the sofa and absorbed herself in her books, while Phillip, Flash and Spike began a game of poker, using Spike’s rock snacks as chips. To the surprise of both stallions, Spike proved to be a surprisingly adept player, and began accumulating a rather large pile of winnings. Pastor Joyful drifted in and out of the room, occasionally pausing to chat with one of them.

Finally, when the sun was just reaching down to kiss the darkening skyline, the telephone sitting on the desk began to ring. Flash picked it up almost instantaneously. “Hello?...Yes, this is Sergeant Sentry...good afternoon, Mister Dessert…” He looked up at the others, the same hope reflected in one another’s eyes. “You can meet us? When?...Yes, I know the address. We can be there in five minutes. Thank you! See you soon!” He hung up, grinning broadly.

“He agreed to meet with us!” he declared.

“Aces,” Phillip said, rising. “C’mon, all of you.”

Twilight marked her place in her book and got up, stretching her limbs. Spike gathered up his winnings.

“Be careful, you four,” Pastor Joyful cautioned them as they exited.

“Don’t worry, Pastor. We’ll be back in time for dinner,” Flash reassured her. They went out the back door. Spike climbed onto Twilight’s back and Flash grabbed Phillip beneath his forelegs, taking to the sky and flying northwards.

Five minutes later, they landed before a four-story brick apartment building sitting on a street corner, slightly separated from the shops and stores that it shared the block with as if desperate for attention, or trying to escape. As they landed, Flash checked around for any sign of threats, but the few pedestrians on the streets paid them little heed.

Standing to the side of the door with the peeling yellow paint, Flash hit the buzzer for Apartment 3B. “Who is it?” a male voice asked through the buzzer, punctuated by static.

“Plum Dessert?” Flash asked. “This is Sergeant Sentry. We’re here to talk with you.”

“Oh, right. Please come up,” the voice responded. With a click, the door unlocked. Phillip carefully pushed the door open and the friends entered the apartment. The thin, shadowy hallway pressed down on them as they entered, the dull whitewashed walls and ceiling seeming to threateningly surround them. Flash gulped nervously, staring up at the claustrophobic surroundings in apprehension.

Noticing this, Twilight took his hoof in hers. “Just one step at a time,” she reassured him. “I’m right here.”

Flash nodded and began climbing up the stairs, every step creaking beneath their weight. Twilight stayed close beside him, even though their shoulders scraped against the walls at every landing. Phillip brought up the rear of the ensemble, ears alert at every noise. They reached the third floor and proceeded down the hallway, passing by several doors. The door to 3E creaked open as they passed; a small blue eye tentatively peeked out, then instantly retreated.

Flash knocked at the door to 3B, being careful to stand to the side. “Mr. Dessert?” he called.

The door creaked open and a dark blue eye peeped out. “Sergeant Sentry? Who else is with you?”

“Mr. Dessert, I’m Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight introduced herself. “These are my friends, Spike and Phillip Finder.”

The eye examined them all carefully, then nodded. The door closed, there was the sound of several locks being withdrawn, and then the door opened wide once more.

“Good evening, all of you,” Plum Dessert greeted them. He was a tall unicorn with a generous girth, milky chocolate brown coat and a wavy purple mane and tail, wearing a white dress shirt and a loose tie. His cutie mark was a slice of plum pie sitting in a tray.

“Let’s go into my office,” he offered, guiding them past the sparsely-decorated living room and into his office. The little room was populated by a simple desk, topped with several papers, notepads covered in scrawls, and an old typewriter. A single framed picture hung on the back wall; Plum, Lemon and Anchor, all standing side by side on a beach and grinning at the camera, their faces backlit by the sun glimmering of the crystal blue water. A few faded cushions were scattered around the floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” Plum apologized, gathering up several cushions in his magic and setting them up for his guests and himself. “I’ve been busy with my work; I’m a food critic.”

“I see,” Twilight said as she and her friends sat down in front of the desk.

“So, I understand you wanted to talk to me about my brother, Anchor?” Plum stated, settling behind the desk.

“Yes, sir,” Flash said. “Sir, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your brother appears to have been killed.”

Plum blinked. “Killed?...I...oh, God.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I know this must be hard,” Flash said. “Can you tell us about Anchor?”

“Yes,” Plum said, looking down at the desk. “I was the one who called the City Guard; he had missed our weekly phone call, and I was getting worried.”

“You were close, then?” Flash asked.

“We always had been,” Plum explained, glancing up at the photograph on the wall. “We met when Lemon started dating him. He was an awkward, shambling mess when they met, but he all but worshipped the ground she walked on, and she adored him as well. I came to love him as a member of my family as well. Then when she died, and he fell into depression…” He sighed deeply. “How did it happen?”

“A home intruder,” Flash stated. “When was the last time you saw him alive?”

“I spoke to him on the phone last Saturday,” Plum answered. “That was the last time I saw or heard from him.”

“Hmm,” Flash murmured. He examined the desk more closely, inspecting each of the objects on it. Along the papers and notepads with their near-illegitimate scrawls and type, there were several pencils and pens, a cheap wind-up clock, the antique but still functional typewriter, and a pair of glasses. He studied the glasses for a moment, then glanced up at Phillip. Phillip barely looked at him, but nodded subtly. He had noticed the same thing.

“Are those your glasses?” Phillip asked, reaching over and plucking up the glasses.

“Er...yes, they’re my reading glasses,” Plum replied in bewilderment.

“I see,” Phillip said, trying the glasses on, only to find that they slid down his nose; even when he held them in place, he couldn’t get the lenses to line up with his eyes. Apparently satisfied, he set the glasses back down. Plum stared at him in bewilderment for a moment.

“Can you account for your movements over the past couple of days?” Flash asked.

“I’ve been in here, working on a critique,” Plum replied. “Why? Are you accusing me of—?”

“It’s standard procedure, sir. Nothing personal,” Flash interrupted him, holding up a hoof reassuringly. “Is there anypony else that Anchor Point would trust?”

“He never was the friendliest pony, and his depression made it even worse; that’s partially why he preferred to do most of his business over the mail or phone. So, no, I don’t know of anypony else; I’d say that I was the only pony living that he was really close to.”

“I see,” Flash nodded. “I think that will be all for now, Mr. Dessert. If you think of anything else, please call me back at the same number.”

“I will do so,” Plum said, standing and shaking hooves with Flash. “I hope that you find whoever killed my brother.”

“We’ll try,” Twilight reassured him as they exited, closing the door behind them as they walked back into the narrow hallway.

“He’s lying to us,” Phillip muttered as soon as the door closed.

“What makes you say that?” Twilight asked.

“The glasses,” Phillip answered, already starting to descend the stairs. “They’re not his. They’re not reading glasses, they’re meant for a pony with myopia. And they wouldn’t fit on Plum’s face; he had a smaller nose than me, and if I couldn’t wear them, then neither could he.

“However, if you had closely observed the photographs of Anchor Point, you would’ve noticed the marks on his abnormally large nose that are left by the nosepieces of a pair of glasses like those.”

“You don’t mean…?” Spike said, his eyes widening as they rounded the landing.

Flash nodded. “Those are Anchor Point’s glasses. He was here, and I’d bet anything that Plum Dessert knows where he’s—” He stopped on the first floor landing, suddenly statue still as he beheld the pony in front of them. “Uh-oh.”

“Princess Twilight, Sergeant Sentry,” said the fully armored City Guard standing in front of them, his face a thin, serious line. “Duke Blueblood has requested your presence. Please come with me.” He turned around and pushed open the door to the apartment, gesturing for them to follow.

“How did you find us?” Flash asked, half reaching for the sword on his holster as he placed himself between Twilight and the Guard. Phillip reached for the boomerang on his back pocket.

“You were seen entering this building. The City Guard has been discreetly following you...for your own safety, of course,” the Guard answered, still holding the door open. “Now, please come with me.”

The friends all glanced at one another, then Flash slowly stood down. “All right,” he nodded. They exited the apartment building to find that a fancy silvery-blue motorized carriage was waiting for them. Another Guard was waiting to open the doors for them, and they entered, placing themselves on the velveteen sheets.

Both of the Guards placed themselves in the front seats, starting up the engine. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes, Your Highness,” the driver told Twilight as they pulled away from the block.

“All right,” Twilight nodded.

“What do you think Blueblood wants to talk to us about?” Spike asked, watching the city pass by through the thick, tinted windows.

“I don’t know, Spike,” Twilight said. “But I don’t think it’s going to be good.”

Author's Notes:

We're off to see the Duke! The wonderful Duke named Blue!
We hear he is a Duke of a Duke, if ever a Duke there was!

This can't be good at all...