The sky was looking rather dreary that day, which was odd. For the most part, the Pegasi over in Cloudsdale usually kept gloomy weather away from Ponyville. Besides, miserable gray skies were more Manehattan's forte. But, reputation doesn't dictate mood all the time, so I had no choice but to simply deal with the cruddy weather as I trotted from my house to my office. It was always a long walk, going from the outskirts of town to the market plaza smack dab in the middle of the quaint settlement. Good exercise, though. And it wakes you up like nopony's business.

I finally reached the cobblestone-laden center of town, where some of the early bird merchants of Ponyville were already setting up shop. Among them was Big McIntosh, a colt with a burgundy hide and a straw-blond mane. He was young, no more than seventeen, tops, and had twigs for legs, but that sure didn't stop him from working hard for his family. Apparently, he had Granny Smith and two little sisters to support. Poor colt.

I walked up to his stand and took out a couple bits, motioning to the delicious piece of Eden known as a Sweet Apple Acre's Apple Pie. He nodded and quickly made the exchange. I looked around and didn't notice any would-be customers around, and decided to start up a bit of small talk. I wasn't normally one to do something like that, but that was usually because I didn't get along with most ponies. Big Mac was a decent sort; an honest colt doing an honest day's work. I could definitely talk with somepony like that.

"Thanks, Big Mac." I said, as he put the apple pie into a bag and handed it to me. I grabbed it and looked up to the sky. "Folks over in Cloudsdale must be in a foul mood, eh?"

"Eeyup."

"And..." I grinned. "Speaking of the other cities, I heard that lil' Applejack came back from Manehattan the other day, not even a week ago. And she got her cutie mark, no less."

Big Mac let a calm, content smile creep onto his face before repeating, "Eeyup."

"Can't believe you pulled the 'grass is greener' trick on her." I shook my head and smiled. "You're just as old fashioned as your Granny, you know."

Big Mac snorted and uttered probably the largest sentence I'd ever heard him say. "Don't know 'bout you, but I reckon that ain't a bad thing t'all."

I nodded silently and began to walk off, bag in mouth. "Thanks for the pie, Big Mac. Tell your Granny she's doing saintly work with them."

"Eeyup."

… … …

It had been 5 hours and nopony had walked into my office. Didn't surprise me. Ponyville's not the most crime-infested city a pony could walk into. It's why I quit the Manehattan police force and set up shop here as a detective. Not because it was less work, that wasn't the reason at all. Piecing together evidence and formulating scenarios was physically trying, but filled my mind with. And it's the kind of work that gave me a sense of pride, which is always a nice bonus.

No, the reason I left Manehattan wasn't to lessen the workload, but to lessen the grit. Manehattan was a big city. Some would even call it the largest in all of Equestria. Big cities attract a lot of people. And when a lot of ponies cram into a city, not all of them get to live somewhere nice and have nice jobs. And when you have a bunch of poor, hardly-employed ponies… things get bad. Oftentimes, to the point of murder.

That was the problem I had: murder. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't look at those kinds of pictures or files. It was just… wrong. Not because I'm a squeamish kind of pony, but to me, it just didn't belong here in Equestria. Murder didn't have any business in a place like this, where everypony was kind to one another, where mistakes were made in earnest, and sins were few and far between. And yet, each day, more of them popped up in Manehattan. I got wise and bolted out of that city before I lost my marbles about 2 years ago.

And here, in Ponyville? The biggest crime this city had in the past 2 years was a large-scale theft from the pastry shop. Yeah. A bunch of cakes getting stolen. That was the worst this city had to offer. Of course, that didn't mean nothing happened. Just nothing graphic. Basically, all it boiled down to,for a detective in a town like this, was finding lost items and people, tasks made simple thanks to my magic. See? Boring, easy stuff.

I was just about to drift off into a nap and decided to snack on what was left of the Apple family's pie. The gloomy skies had given way to a light drizzle while I was waiting for a client to walk in, and the pitter-patter of raindrops against the wooden ceiling gently began guiding me to sleep. However, it was then that I heard the door creak open. The sound was followed by a cautious voice asking, "Mr. Gumshoe?"

I looked up from under my lowered fedora and saw that my door was slightly cracked open, with the freaking Mayor of Ponyville poking her head through it. She was a tan-hided mare with a decent amount of years under her belt, a silver streak of age running across the brown mane that clung to her face due to the rain. I immediately jolted upright and dusted off my vest.

"Miss Mayor! Yes, please, come in, don't stay out in the rain! I was just practicing… uh… my 'pretending to be asleep' strategy! Yes, you see, in case any of the criminal types try to… uh… sneak up on me and such. Lure them into a false sense of security and then surprise them, you understand."

The Mayor smirked and entered. She quickly shut the door behind her and whipped her head. "Yes, of course, Detective. In any case, I hope you'll forgive me interrupting one of your 'drills' for a…" she paused and let her face grow solemn before continuing, "Special assignment. One that I'd like to assign to you, on behalf of all of Ponyville."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Was something important stolen from City Hall? Is there a missing public official?"

"No, no, no. It wasn't a theft, burglary or a disappearance." She bit her lip. "I-it was a murder."

I cringed. Well, speak of the devil. Couldn't say I was all that shocked, though. Happens everywhere. But that didn't mean I had to like dealing with it. I quickly shook off my reaction. "Why did you come to me? I'm sure you know that-"

"- murder is the entire reason you left Manehattan to come here. Yes, I know, I read it on your record. But please, Mr. Gumshoe, you must! The normal officers won't do the job. Aside from a few finishing touches, they've already moved on to other cases." She paused, considering how to word her next question, before asking me, "Have you heard of the riot that happened late last night?"

I probably shouldn't have popped a piece of apple pie into my mouth before she asked that. Would've ended up with less gagging that way. Not only a murder, but a RIOT? In Ponyville? When it rains… "No. No, I didn't."

"Pfff," she scoffed, "some detective. I thought you were supposed to be 'in the know.'"

I frowned. "Hey, this is Ponyville we're talking about. You should know more than anypony else how much of a waste of time it'd be to constantly keep my ear to the ground for murders and riots. Besides, nopony I talked to on the way here even mentioned it. It wasn't even in the papers."

She nodded glumly. "Yes, I suppose the townspeople would rather ignore the whole incident than constantly prattle on about it."

"In a gossip's paradise like Ponyville? I highly doubt that."

That earned me a mean look from the Mayor. "Mister Gumshoe, I don't know what kind of ponies you've met in Manehattan, but we here in Ponyville do not have some sort of sick, morbid fascination with death, and we try our best to keep away from it."

I merely replied with a grunt and decided it best to change the subject. "So, was the riot caused by the, um… murder?"

She morosely shook her head, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Other way around… trampled."

I started rubbing my hoof against my forehead, but didn't let that make me miss a beat. "Any reason for the riot?"

"That's just it. There isn't one. City Hall and Canterlot both haven't made any decrees or policies that'd anger its citizens; they haven't for years. There are no controversial affairs happening right now either, nothing that'd spark protests or affirmative action. And, to make things even odder, everypony involved with the riot claims to have had no memory of it. Normally, we'd right that off as denying being part of a crime, but they all specifically described their vision going completely purple before coming to only a dozen feet or so from where they were standing."

"But a riot's a riot, and that's all the police need as a cause of death to wrap this up."

"Precisely." she said. I looked at her face. She looked utterly crestfallen. "Phil, listen. I know you aren't the most extroverted colt in town, and I know you probably have never even heard of the victims, but please. Put whoever killed them away. For the town, if not for me or them."

I exhaled and rubbed at my temples while she gave me the speech. But what she said before that was true, dammit. It did sound suspicious. And even worse, it had magic written all over it. Obviously, somepony wanted the two victims gone, and for the police to just shrug it off as a simple trample during a riot. He (or she) has two flaws in that plan, however. First, they chose to do it in Ponyville, one of the mellowest towns in Equestria. A riot would definitely raise suspicions.

Second mistake: s/he used magic. It seems like a good idea to use it. After all, it's so esoteric and mysterious that, on paper, it would seem to baffle the minds of anypony that tried to trace it. Problem was that it just isn't like that. Ever since I was a foal, I collected books and tomes about magic because I knew that, no matter what my purpose was, that magic would always prove to be an asset. One of the first things I learned was that magic represented life and everything that came with it: emotions, fears, instincts, hopes and dreams, everything. Technically, everypony had magic in them, it was just that only Unicorns and Allicorns could harness it (some scientists believe it's because our horns are specialized organs instead of just a part of our skeletal system, or some scientific horseradish like that).

In any case, a large portion of a pony's soul goes into using magic, even for basic stuff like telekinesis. Something that caused a riot? That'd take quite the mage; that much is certain. At least 40 years old, plenty of time to study magic for the sake of magic, and not for some specific occupation.

I caught myself in the middle of the thought process and put a bookmark on those thoughts. I'd better ask the Mayor for all the info I can squeeze out of her before I go off on a tangent. Facts first, speculation later.

I shook myself out of the pensive staring contest with the floor and returned my gaze to the Mayor. "Anything else suspicious about the incident?"

She nodded. "The victims. They knew each other. In fact, they were married. Pegasi named Lucy and Scooter."

I cringed before asking, "… They got a kid?"

"A two-year-old filly. Also a Pegasus. They named her Scootaloo."

"Celestia's blood," I muttered, "an orphan."

"She's being taken care of by the Cake family, momentarily." She continued. "They've been planning on building a second floor in their shop for a while now, but that'll still be a while. We're trying to find a more permanent and comfortable home for her."

I nodded briefly, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Anything else?"

She shook her head. "Not that I've gathered, no. The scene of the incidence is still closed to the public. It'll be open by tomorrow, though. An investigation there would prove useful."

"Why thank you, Mayor, for that pearl of wisdom." I drawled. "In exchange, let me give you an equally helpful piece of advice for re-election: tell the citizens of Ponyville that you want to make the town a better place."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hold back a silly grin. "Thanks, Phil."

I found myself grinning too, and shrugged. "Equal exchange, Mary."

A long pause crept up. I just sat there, pondering the case. Another murder. Fantastic. But it seemed simple enough. Find the mage, lock him up. It wasn't like experienced magicians were commonplace. Most ponies, especially in a town like Ponyville, were content to using their magic for just one thing, usually associated with whatever job they wanted to do when they grow up. Finding somepony who studied magic for the sake of magic wouldn't exactly be difficult.

But it wasn't the difficulty of the case that made me dread doing it. It was the aftermath. If I catch the mage, he can't give Scootaloo her parents back. If the mage resists, and I end up having to… kill him while he fights back, it isn't going to give me, Scoot, or anypony an ounce of satisfaction. Just another number for the body count, which was already two ponies higher than it should've been.

And yet, I thought, just curling up in my office, only taking the safe, non-emotional jobs… that wouldn't give Scoot her parents back either. And the mage would just get off scot-free, murder anypony s/he pleases. And me… how could I have any self-respect after turning something like this down? Rhetorical question. I already knew the answer.

While I was thinking about all this, the Mayor just leaned against the doorway, studying my face. She was no doubt reading my expressions while I was mulling everything over, trying to gauge them in order to see whether or not I'd take the case. I should've guessed that a politician'd be good at reading faces, for by the end of my train of thought, she had a confident smirk on her face. I rolled my eyes and pointed a hoof at her.

"Fine. But I'm gonna need some things for this case."

She nodded, not losing an ounce of smug in her expression. "But of course."

"First: I'm gonna need some documents. Info on the victims, as well as a census of Ponyville's citizens. I want every Unicorn that's set foot in this city within the past 3 days listed and in a manila envelope."

She nodded. "Done."

"Second," I continued, "I'm gonna need some sort of clearance to poke my nose in certain places. Gimme a badge or tell all the policecolts I'm in the clear, I don't care how. I just don't want any flak when I go to the victim's house or to the scene of the crime. They all associate me with finding lost junk, so I'm gonna need somepony high up – you – to tell them to take me seriously for the next week or two."

"Of course." She replied. "I'll let everyone on the force know that you're investigating a case."

"Something tells me that won't help much," I murmured. Cops and detectives didn't like each other much. Sort of a competitive thing. And when you're a detective whose only track-record in town consisted of finding lost stuff? Then they don't like or respectyou. "And third: my rate. I'm gonna have to charge 20 bits an hour, 8 hours a day, excluding the day I solve the case."

"That's double your average price."

"And this is about 20 times as serious as most cases I'm given. Be thankful I'm giving you a 10:1 seriousness-to-bits ratio."

She rolled her eyes and surrendered. "Fine, fine. Just, please, get this figured out as soon as possible. Lucy and her husband were good ponies. They didn't deserve what happened to them."

"Lucy and Scooter don't have anything to complain about. Scootaloo does."

That earned me a cold glare from her. Okay, maybe it was harsh to say, but it was true. Death is never unfortunate for the ponies that die. Ponies can't understand that when you die, you die. Nerve and brain cells deteriorate. No nerves, no pain. It is, however, unfortunate for the ponies left behind, and everypony knows it. Of course, ponies don't like being told so curtly that when they mourn a friend, they're really just feeling sorry for themselves, not actually feeling sad for the deceased. That, coupled with the fact that I sort of implied she didn't care about Scootaloo, probably made me look like a total mule. Eh. Looking like a total mule is definitely something that I

Regardless of the tension I had so thoughtfully brought to the room, the Mayor cleared her throat after about a minute of silence and said in a very polite tone, "Well then, Mr. Gumshoe. I do believe we're done here. You'll find your requested documents in your office's mailbox by tomorrow morning. You know City Hall's number if you need my assistance. Just say your name and my secretary will forward you to me immediately." She bowed her head and began to exit my office. "Thank you for helping me, Mr. Gumshoe. Also… keep this case to yourself. I have a feeling whoever did this will be a tad paranoid, so try not to let on what you and I think caused this riot. Not to anypony."

" 'Course. Discretion is the better part of valor, et cetera."

She nodded. "Good luck, Phil." And with that, she left. From what I could see and hear when she opened and closed the door, the drizzle had evolved into a full-on monsoon. Sheets of cold water pelted against the cobblestone of the plaza. During the Mayor and I's discussion, everypony in the square had cleared out. Once she left, I just sat there, running some facts through my head. A Unicorn, 40 years of age, at least, that was insanely talented at magic. And, for some reason or another, he had a connection to the Scoot family. Once I got that list, I could use the first two traits to my advantage. But that'd have to wait until tomorrow. In the mean time, I'd have to do some snooping around. And, to my dismay, I had to do it now. Though the spell, whatever it was, would leave a lot of leftover magic, it had already been half a day since it was cast. I'd have to hurry before the entire residue faded away.

I groaned and trotted to the coat rack that sat in my office's corner, glaring at my yellow raincoat. I hate the rain. I hate being cold. But I hate seeing ponies get killed too. I hate seeing foals, wide-eyed and happy, completely unaware of the fact that their chance of living a normal life was just ripped away from them as easily and quickly as pages from an old book. And worst of all, I hated seeing nopony pay for it.

I used my telekinesis to slip on the rubbery thing, and marched off to the door. A storm. A riot. A murder. An orphan. And a psychotic wizard that was running loose in a near defenseless town that was none the wiser of his existence. I inhaled slowly, flipped the coat's hood over my head with a small dab of telekinesis, and walked out into the torrent. When it rains, it pours.