Featherweight looked around the party room. “Okay, so maybe we didn’t think this through…” The room was cleaned up from last night.
“Well, this is the schoolhouse,” Edit said, “It has a janitor.”
“So, any evidence that may have existed is just gone now?” Featherweight asked.
“Probably,” Edit sighed, “Still, it won’t hurt to look around.” They began their search, eyeing the clear floor and spotless walls with little hope. Idly, Featherweight lifted the tablecloth of the table that had the punch bowl and caught sight of a bottle. He reached for it eagerly, but paused before calling Edit over. “What is it?” Edit asked.
“I think I’ve found our bottle of Cuteonium,” Featherweight said, “I was about to grab it, but then I thought we could dust it for hoofprints. I need you to pick it up with your magic.”
“Hoofprints?” Edit asked skeptically, levitating the bottle, “How are you going to manage that?”
“I got a detective kit for my birthday,” Featherweight said, “It came with a hoofprint dusting set.”
“Ah, I see,” Edit said, “Not a half-bad idea. Why don’t you go get it? I’ll stay and search for more clues.”
“Good luck with that,” Featherweight said glumly, “Be back in a second.” Featherweight rushed out, flew home, grabbed the detective kit, and flew back to the schoolhouse. Edit was sitting dejectedly at the table, with the bottle sitting next to him. “No luck?” Featherweight asked. Edit shook his head. “Well, maybe this will shed some light on the subject.” Featherweight said, opening the kit.
Featherweight rummaged around for a bit before pulling out some powder and a blush to apply it with. “Alright, let me see it.” Edit levitated it in front of Featherweight, and he applied an even coat all around the sides of the bottle. He then gently blew the excess dust away, to reveal…nothing. “Well, that was a bust.” Featherweight said, sitting across from Edit. “Still, now we know the culprit was a unicorn.”
Edit looked up with interest. “What makes you say that?”
“Only a unicorn could handle the bottle without leaving prints,” Featherweight explained, “So only one of them could’ve done it.”
“Here’s a thought,” Edit said slowly, “Why would the saboteur have left the bottle?”
“They dropped it?” Featherweight suggested.
“Maybe,” Edit said, “but the party wasn’t exactly what I’d call loud. They would have heard if they’d dropped the bottle.”
“So, you think it was done on purpose,” Featherweight mused, “But, why would that mean my theory was wrong?”
“If it was left on purpose, then the saboteur could have wiped their hoofprints,” Edit said, “Meaning it could have been a pegasus or an earth pony.”
“So, essentially you’re saying that it could have been anypony?” Featherweight asked. Edit nodded, and Featherweight asked, “So, we’re right back at square one?” Edit nodded again, and Featherweight let out a frustrated groan.
Edit looked at Featherweight. “Hey, I remember something I heard once. ‘Once you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth, no matter how strange.’”
“That’s the thing, though, we haven’t eliminated anything!” Featherweight said forcefully.
“Maybe not,” Edit said, “but it means that the most likely scenario, that isn’t impossible, must be the truth. And right now, the most likely scenario is that Namby’s the culprit.”
“We have no evidence proving that.”
“Not hard to do when we have no evidence, period.”
“…Good point,” Featherweight sighed, “I guess we should go ask her about it”
“I guess so.”
Featherweight knocked on the door to Namby’s office. The Foal’s Daily was bustling with activity. Featherweight looked around gloomily, thinking of the Press and its current state of emptiness. The door opened, and Namby stood in the frame. “Featherweight!” she said enthusiastically, “What a welcome, though unexpected surprise.”
Featherweight managed a weak smile. “Hey there, Namby. Would you mind if we came in? We’re kind of here on business.”
“Of course, of course, come in,” Namby stepped back and allowed Featherweight and Edit to enter. They took the seats in front of Namby’s desk while Namby sat in her chair. “Now, to what do I owe this honor? I would have expected you to be hard at work managing your own paper.”
“That’s kind of why we’re here,” Featherweight said, “Remember the party last night?”
“Yes, of course. It wasn’t exactly a big party, but then I’m not expecting Pinkie Pie levels when you hold them every week,” Namby laughed.
“Yeah, well, at the party somepony spiked the punch with Cuteonium,” Featherweight paused, looking for a reaction from Namby. He got a blank look.
“Cuteonium?” Namby said, “What’s Cuteonium?” Featherweight shared a glance with Edit. Either she’s a great actress, or she didn’t do it.
“It’s nothing serious,” Featherweight said, “but it did put my crew out of commission. They’ll be puking up rainbows for a few days.”
“That’s terrible!” Namby exclaimed, “I’ll be sure to report this in my paper, get the town on the lookout! Who are the suspects?”
“That’s the tricky part,” Featherweight said hesitantly, “Assuming that the saboteur didn’t poison themselves, the suspects are me, Edit…and you.”
Namby looked stunned. “There’s…really no other suspects?”
Featherweight shook his head. “Everyone who was at the party is either in this room or vomiting up pure cute in the hospital.”
“S-So you think I…” Namby stammered.
“No, I don’t think you did it,” Even as Namby looked relieved, Featherweight added, “But, when the workers come back, we’ll have to report it, and when we do, we’ll have to include everything we know. That includes that it was sabotage…and the suspect list.”
“H-How do you know that it was sabotage?” Namby asked desperately.
Featherweight let out a dark chuckle. “Unfortunately, that’s about the only thing we know for sure. We found the bottle of Cuteonium, which we believe was left intentionally, with no hoofprints on it.” As Namby looked downtrodden, Featherweight said gently, “Look, I don’t think you did it, and it hurts me to see a friend like this, but you know the first rule of good journalism just as well as I do.”
Namby sniffed. “’A good journalist reports everything they know, because their readers are reading for the truth.’ But, Featherweight, that story would ruin me! Even if you only list me as a suspect, I’m the only one who’d be taking the blame! I’ll lose my business, my home, and my good name!”
“I know that,” Featherweight said, “and if it was just me I’d keep it secret, but the crew’s going to want answers as to who made them suffer like this, and I won’t be able to lie to them. From there, they’ll print the story, and from there…” Featherweight trailed off.
Namby looked to be on the edge of breaking down. “Please…go.”
“Namby-“ Featherweight began.
“Please!” Namby shouted. Then, in a more reasonable tone, “I understand your situation, Featherweight. Truly, I do. Right now, though, I need to be alone.”
“Okay,” Featherweight and Edit stood up. “We’ll do everything we can,” Featherweight promised, “and you’re free to do your own investigation, but I wouldn’t expect a miracle.” With a heavy heart, Featherweight left Namby alone in her office. He hadn’t quite made it out of earshot before he heard a sob behind him.