As always, Rarity awoke in the early hours of the following morning. She pulled her sleep mask up over her head and crawled down to the foot of her bed where she looked down into the smaller bed at the foot of hers and, as she always did, saw Spike sleeping there. She smiled and nudged him on the stomach, “Spikey,” she whispered and nudged him once again, “Spike. Do you want me to make some breakfast?” He said nothing but instead remained fast asleep and turned over. “I guess not,” she giggled and then pecked him on the head.
She rolled herself out of the bed and landed on the carpeted floor with a quiet thud. She yawned and stretched before she walked ahead to start the rest of her morning routine. As she jumped into her daily shower and subsequently proceeded ahead with her daily rigorous grooming routine she had no idea that this morning would be anything but routine. “Routine” was a dangerous word for detectives and law enforcement officers to use; it simply didn’t exist, but who could ever think that same danger could roll over into one’s own personal life? Then again, was there really anything “routine” about life itself? Knowing that, on any given day and at any given time, something could go so wrong or so right for any individual?
But Rarity wasn’t thinking about that as she sometimes did. Rather, she was thinking about how she so desperately needed to buy a new coffee maker.
“This thing will be the death of me,” she muttered and ended with a sigh after she finished banging on the side of the electrical contraption. Once it started to dribble coffee into the glass pot, she made the decision, as she always did, to check and see if any mail had been delivered or if any anonymous tips or cases had been handed down. She glanced at her stellar appearance as she passed by the mirror that adorned the wall in front of the door and, satisfied with her appearance, opened the door and looked down at the ground.
There was mail alright, quite a bit of it in fact. Various letters and bills in their bland white and manila envelopes, but none of which caught her eye like the one piece that stood out. How could they when there was a large, bright red heart-shaped box of chocolates at the top of the pile? It put the bland letter and bills beneath it to shame, and it certainly surprised Rarity more than they did. Nevertheless, she gathered up the entire stack with her magic and turned back into her apartment where she placed everything, minus the box of chocolates, on the kitchen counter.
She was flattered, truly, and ever-so-curious as to who might have bestowed her with the little gift. She pondered all of the possibilities as she walked across the apartment and into the living room, a warm and fuzzy feeling starting to brood within her. She supposed it could be from a satisfied client, glad to have their property returned or know that, in fact, their spouse was two-timing, but she hadn’t closed any cases recently other than the homicide, and her clients were never that enthusiastic or appreciative, to say the least. That fuzzy feeling inside of her peaked though when she was faced with the more realistic assumption that it was from Spike, as a random gift perhaps, or from Shining Star as one last gesture of gratitude and remind of the night they had shared. It was their night and they had shared it, and Star wanted to see her in that way again, or so she thought.
“Such darlings,” she sighed happily as she eyed the small white envelope that was neatly tucked beneath the red velvet banner and a flower on the box top. She put the box itself down on the table next to her and pulled the envelope from its restraint. It wasn’t sealed, with the flap merely tucked into the envelope which, along with the lack of a stamp or any writing indicated to her that it was dropped off at her door directly rather than sent through the mail. Chocolates to accompany flowers perhaps? Or had Spike snuck it from a hiding place and placed it outside whilst she was asleep?
She opened it up and pulled the neatly folded piece of paper inside of it out. She unfolded it and read its contents. It was a poem. It was a poem that was evil and that made her heart sink; A poem that made her afraid and that made her throat gasp for air. It read:
But a Fare and Rare Sleuth
She is so Bright and Full of Youth
When in Her Presence a Lust
To See Her Cries a Must
Fate Draws Her in with but a Pair of Earrings
But O How Her Fate Pulls at My Heartstrings
A lump in her throat and the sound of her own heart beating in her ears, Rarity let the macabre piece fall limply to the floor in front of her as she scrambled to reach for and open the box of chocolates. The contents of the candy box were perhaps more terrifying than the poem itself, but that’s something that Rarity would always debate. She gently lifted the lid and, still in utter shock, dropped it to the floor as well.
Inside were many succulent chocolate candies, but much like the best candies would be in the center, a different, more sinister item sat dead center in the box. Within a perfectly cut square in the center of the black plastic tray were two golden, pearl earrings. They were carefully, barely pinned into the bottom of the box and sat perfectly side by side. On the ends of them, where they would hook into one’s earlobes, were dried streaks of blood.
Everything sank in simultaneously and for once in her career, the renowned PI, Rarity, was left standing with her mouth agape and her heart racing. In that moment she realized that she had made a terrible, awful mistake; committed an atrocity in her mind. She had done the one thing she, and every detective for that matter, hopes they will never ever do. Rarity hadn’t brought her victim any justice and, perhaps even worse, perhaps not, she had condemned an innocent pony (innocent of the crime in question anyway) to face the fury of the criminal justice system; Singlehoofedly she had sent an innocent to spend his life in prison, or, more realistically, have it stolen from him in the gas chambers. Even worse than all of that too, was the knowledge that he was still out there. The Black Zinnia Murderer was still out there and he had killed again, and now, he was out there on the prowl. All the proof that she needed of that was right there at the base of her hooves.
TO BE CONTINUED