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// Prologue: The Gift 
// Story: Pushing Daisies: Pie-lette 
// by SoulboundAlchemist 
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At this very moment in the town of Ponyville, young Ned, nine years, twenty-seven weeks, six days and three minutes old, was chasing his dog Digby, aged three years, two weeks, six days, five hours and nine minutes, and not a minute older. As the two chased each other, Digby ran out into the nearby street and into the path of an oncoming flimflamobile. As Digby flew into the air, the, at first, playful look on the young earth pony’s face turned to one of grief and despair. He trotted to his once living friend and knelt beside his lifeless form. He stayed in that position for several moments, before reaching out to give his best and only friend, a goodbye pat. As soon as his hoof made contact with Digby, however, the deceased dog glowed with a golden light for a split second, and Digby jumped to his paws and ran off. This was the moment young Ned realized he wasn’t like the other foals. Nor was he like anyone else for that matter. Young Ned could touch dead things and bring them back to life. Meanwhile, in a nearby tree, a squirrel fell from it dead.
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Ned’s mother was in the kitchen, baking and swatting any flies that got too close to her pies. One of said flies, landed a little close to Ned. His touch was a gift given to him, but not by anyone in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer’s warranty. It just was. To test it, while his mother had her back turned to him, putting a pie in the oven, he reached over to the fly and touched it. Like Digby earlier, the fly glowed a golden light and returned to what it had been doing earlier; buzzing around the freshly baked pies. The terms of use for his gift weren’t immediately clear, nor were they of immediate concern; young Ned was in love. Her name was Chuck. At this very moment the young unicorn was aged eight years, forty-two weeks, three hours and two minutes old. The young earth pony did not think of her as being born or hatched or conceived in any way; Chuck came ready made from the Play-Dough fun factory of life. In their imaginations, young Ned and the unicorn called Chuck conquered the world. In their dinosaur costumes they would stomp on the Play-Dough people, and the cardboard cities they built together. The Play-Dough people would run in terror and sometimes kill each other to get out of the way of the two foals.
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Long after their play date was over, young Ned, who was currently being cleaned up by his mother, remained under Chuck’s spell. Until a blood-vessel in his mother’s brain burst, killing her instantly. Young Ned didn’t notice this until he heard her hit the ground in front of him. Not thinking about what might happen, he trotted over to his mother and touched her. As with every other dead thing he had touched, she briefly gave off a golden glow, and then her eyes flickered open.
“Must have slipped, clumsy me. Did the timer go off?” asked the now not dead mother. She went to the oven and removed the now baked pie, while Ned went to a seat at the table. Young Ned’s random gift that was came with a caveat or two. It was a gift that not only gave, it took. Just as the timer that was set goes off, Chuck’s father, who had been hosing the lawn outside his home, falls dead. Young Ned learned that he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequences. Any longer and someone else had to die. As Ned made this connection, his mother glances out the window and drops the pie she is holding in shock. In the grand universal scheme of things, young Ned had traded his mother’s life, for Chuck’s father’s.
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“Come on Neddy, time for bed” said Ned’s mother, several hours later. Young Ned moves away from the window he’s been staring out of since the death of Chuck’s father, and climbs into bed. There was one more thing about touching dead things that young Ned didn’t know and he learned it in the most unfortunate way. As Ned’s mother tucked him in, she made the mistake of giving him a goodnight kiss on his forehead. The instant her lips came into contact with Ned’s skin, she glowed a light blue, and fell backwards, once again dead. Ned jumped out of bed, and tried to revive his mother again, touching her multiple times before he realized the awful truth about his gift. First touch: life! Second touch: dead, again, forever.
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“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me…” the minister droned. After a brief mourning period, young Ned’s father would hustle him off to boarding school, never to be seen again. Chuck would be fostered by aunts Sarah and Juliet Sparkle, renowned magic experts, they shared matching personality disorders, and a love for fine chocolate. At their respective parents funerals, busy with grief, curiosity and hormones, young Ned, and the unicorn named Chuck, had their first, and only kiss.
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After his mother’s death, Ned avoided social attachments, fearing what he’d do if someone else he loved died. And he became obsessed with pies. It’s nineteen years, thirty-four weeks, one day and fifty-nine minutes later, here-to-for known as now. Young Ned has become the Pie Maker, his talent for pie baking reflected in his cutie mark; three slices of various pies. He made his pies in a shop known as the Pie Hole in the heart of the Crystal Empire. The peaches never brown, the dead fruit in his hands becomes ripe with everlasting flavor as long as he only touches it once. 
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“Every day I come in, I pick a pie, concentrate all my love on that pie, if I love it, someone else is gonna love it, and you know what? By the end of the day, I sold more of those pies than any other pie in shop.” The energetic young voice of Olive Snook could be heard talking to PI Emerson Cod, who was getting ready to make his order.
“Yeah? What pie do you love today?”  responds Cod.
“Rhubarb”
Cod nods and replies “I’ll stick with three plum. Al la mode.”
Emerson Cod was the sole keeper of the Pie Maker’s secret. And this is how he came to be the sole keeper of the Pie Maker’s secret.
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A private investigator, Mr. Cod met the Pie Maker, when his Pie Hole was on the verge of financial ruin. Cod was chasing a suspect over the roofs of the buildings surrounding the Pie Hole, until eventually, the suspect made the grave mistake of trying to jump the large gap between the roof of the Pie Hole and another building. Cod’s suspect fell onto the dumpsters in the alleyway below, dying instantly, only to make contact with the Pie Maker, returning to life. A bit disorientated, the criminal made a run for it. He didn’t make it far though, since the Pie Maker, who was much faster than he looked, gave chase and returned him to the grave. Mr. Cod, after observing all this from the nearby rooftop, proposed a partnership; murders are much easier to solve when you can ask the victim who killed them. The Pie Maker reluctantly agreed.
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“I asked you not to use the word zombie, its disrespectful” the Pie Maker and Cod were in their usual booth, close to the door, discussing the business of murder as usual. “Stumbling around, squawking for brains, it’s not how they do. And undead, nopony wants to be un anything. Why begin a conversation on a negative, it’s like saying I don’t disagree, just say you agree.”
Cod rolled his eyes. “Are you comfortable with living dead?”
“You’re either living or you’re dead” the Pie Maker retorted. “When you’re living, you’re alive, when you’re dead, that’s what you are. But when you’re dead and then you’re not, you’re alive again. Can’t we say alive again? Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Sounds like you’re narcoleptic.”
“I suffer from sudden and uncontrollable attacks of deep sleep?”
“What’s the other one?”
“Necrofilia”
“Words that sound alike get mixed up in my head” said Cod, shrugging.
The great ball of energy and randomness, that was known as Olive suddenly piped up, “Me too, I used to think masturbation meant chewing your food”
The two in the booth just stared at Olive, as the smile she wore, ever so slowly fell from her face. “I don’t think that anymore.”
“Can you lock the door behind you?” asks the Pie Maker.
Olive stood there for only a moment, before taking off her apron, hooking it on a peg by the door, and left, locking the door behind her. Cod watched with a confused look on his face, wondering why the hell did she think masturbation was chewing your food?!? Composing himself, Cod turned back to the Pie Maker asking, “So you want in on this opportunity or not? A dog is involved.”
Digby, who had been sleeping on the floor the whole time lifted his head at the word dog. The Pie Maker looked at Digby.
“What kind of dog?” he asks.
“Is gonna be a dead dog. Dead dog named Cantaloupe. They’re putting her down since she allegedly killed her owner.”
“By allegedly…?”
“Cantaloupe was framed. Somepony put a part of the victim in her mouth.”
“Huh” the Pie Maker said pondering the implications of this statement.
“Hey,” Cod pulls out a photo of the supposed murderer. “Docile as a kitten, says the family.”
The Pie Maker examined the photo carefully, noting how the dog looked practically harmless.
“Despite it being a Chow, the breed most likely turned on its owner?” the Pie Maker jokes
“Hey, hey!” Cod exclaims. “That’s racial profiling.”
The Pie Maker chuckles at this, as he takes a closer look at the dog.
“Look here, if the dogs innocent, that means its murder, and that means theres a reward,” pressed Cod, grinning at the prospect of more cash in his wallet.