• Published 23rd Aug 2014
  • 1,872 Views, 41 Comments

Murder on the Friendship Express! - Shahrazad



Pinkie meets some interesting characters on the train ride home, and a mystery is ahoof! Missing odds and ends, a million bits, oh and let’s not forget the murder! Can Detective Pinkie solve the case before the whole thing flies off the tracks?

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Ol’ Bitty, on the Streets, with Lots of Baggage

Everypony shuffled into the next car. Luggage of every shape and color filled the car to the brim, stuffed into semi-neat rows and secured with ropes along each wall. However, two pieces of luggage sat in the middle of the aisle. One looked like a doctors’ bag with a dirty brown plaid pattern, and the other, a wooden chest with brass fittings.

Whistle Stop halted for a moment, walked to the plaid bag, and tilted his head. “That’s odd. It looks like somepony has been in this bag.” He poked the handles, which flopped apart and swayed with the motion of the train.

“Interesting…” Pinkie mumbled.

Slate stomped down the aisle and peered into the bag. “Whose bag is dis?” he asked Whistle.

“Yes, whose…?” Pinkie mumbled again.

Whistle Stop shook his head and replied, “I don’t know. This is a lost piece of luggage. We’re supposed to return it to the central office in Canterlot when we next pass through there.”

“Indeed…” Pinkie nodded, lost in thought.

Ol’ Bitty shuffled down the aisle and squeezed past Slate, who cocked an eyebrow. “Keep yer hooves off’a my things!” Bitty’s voice rumbled with ire, as she brandished her cane at Pinkie.

Pinkie more or less swam in a pile of dusty luggage, doing the backstroke. Most of these pieces of luggage bore a rather dated floral pattern of petunias. They were fashionable before Pinkie was even born. Pinkie swam in circles around several large pieces of furniture at the center of the pile, including a bed, armoire, and a cuckoo clock. “What does this little door do?” Pinkie asked, as she stuck her ear to the tiny door on the front of the clock. “Hellooooo? Anypony home?”

Cuckoo-Cuckoo

The tiny mechanical bird chimed as it extended out of the clock, into Pinkie’s ear… and out of Pinkie’s other ear, unimpeded. Pinkie didn’t blink, as she smiled with her tongue sticking out of one side of her mouth. Everypony else just stared at her with their mouths agape, as the cuckoo retreated back into its home. “Elementary!” Pinkie exclaimed, putting a hoof into the air.

Ol’ Bitty blinked several times, shook her head, and said again, “Git outta my things, you airhead!”

Pinkie dove into the luggage and vanished from sight. Ignis snickered, and Tiny scoffed. Hot Shot just looked perplexed as he asked quietly, “Where did she go?” Everypony leaned forward, listening, trying to find Pinkie.

“AH-HA!” Pinkie burst out of the plaid luggage sitting alone in the middle of the aisle. Everypony jumped; Ol’ Bitty stumbled and nearly fell down. “There’s plumbing supplies in this piece of luggage!”

Whistle Stop wiped his brow with his pocket square, trying to get his heart rate from galloping to trotting. “Um, yes, I guess it belonged to a plumber, or a plumbing supplies salesmare.”

“With a missing wrench!” Pinkie shouted triumphantly.

Everypony gasped. Slate recovered first and asked, “How do you know a wrench is missing?”

Pinkie hopped out of the bag, which looked like it could hold maybe a third of her volume, in one bound. She landed on all four hooves around the bag, then upended it, spilling its contents onto the floor. “See?” Pinkie said, pointing at each item in turn. “Plumbers’ tape, liquid cement, aluminum pipe, plastic pipe, straight piece, ninety-degree angled piece, screwdriver, plunger, rubber horseshoes… aaaannnd…” Pinkie waited for a reply, but nopony said anything. “No pipe wrench! What kind of plumber doesn't have a pipe wrench?!” Pinkie asked, looking around the car. Her eyes stopped on Ol’ Bitty.

“Why are you looking at me?” she asked, her voice creaky and sweet once again.

“Because you took it!” Pinkie shouted, bouncing like a basketball.

“What?” Ol’ Bitty looked at Pinkie like she had grown a second head. “Why in the wide world would I need a pipe wrench?”

Slate stood behind her, his voice like bricks on gravel. “Yes, why would you need a heavy chunk of metal?”

“For your new plumbing, of course!” Pinkie was bouncing again, and her smile was wide enough that Bitty could see her reflection in Pinkie’s teeth.

Ol’ Bitty tilted her head at Pinkie. “Eh? What new plumbing? I don’t even have old plumbing!”

Pinkie stopped bouncing, and her smile faded. “Aren't you moving?”

Ol’ Bitty looked down, while her cheeks flushed just a bit. “I am moving. How did you know?”

“Pshhh…” Pinkie scoffed. “Isn't it obvious? What else would you be doing with all this stuff? It’s enough to fill a house!”

Ol’ Bitty’s eyes snapped to Pinkie, as did every other set of eyes. Hot shot leaned closer to Ignis and whispered, “That’s a good point. Maybe she isn't an airhead.”

“I’m moving in with my children and grandchildren in Manehatten, not into a new house. Not that it’s any of your business…” Ol’ Bitty’s voice held a bitter edge.

“Wow, that’s great! They must have a huge mansion to be able to fit in all this stuff, plus their own family!” Pinkie chirped. Ol’ Bitty’s eyes narrowed on Pinkie, and a murderous scowl etched itself onto her face. “They must love you so much. Oh, can I throw you a ‘Welcome-to-your-new-home’ party?”

Ignis whispered back to Hot Shot, “No, definitely an airhead.”

Ol’ Bitty, still glaring at Pinkie, replied, “No, you may not. My children have a small, three-bedroom home in the outskirts of Manehatten. They don’t even have a front yard.” Her cheeks flushed, and angry tears welled up in her eyes, but didn't fall.

Pinkie tilted her head and knocked on the other side, like she was trying to get water out of one ear. “Huh? That doesn't make any sense. Why would you have all this stuff if you can’t get it into your new digs? Where am I going to find the room to throw you a party in there? What happened to your old home?”

Ol’ Bitty sniffled and looked down. “Well, if you must know—”

“And most importantly: do you have any feldspar?” Pinkie asked, much too close to Bitty. She leaned back, just as a powerful pair of hooves came down and pushed the two mares apart.

“Shut yer trap when an elder is talking.” Slate glared at Pinkie, then nodded for Bitty to continue. Hot Shot’s mouth dropped open and Tiny’s eyes widened to stare at Slate. Even Quill stopped scribbling and peeked over the top of her notebook. Pinkie seemed overjoyed while she looked between Slate’s hoof and his face.

Ol’ Bitty smiled and closed her eyes. “Why thank you, young stallion.” She turned and looked wistfully out the window at the blurring shapes whipping past the train. “Forty-four years ago, I met the stallion of my dreams. We got married and built our dream house.” Tiny rolled her eyes and yawned, while Bitty continued. “We had two beautiful children in that house. We raised them as best we could. One of them moved away to Manehatten with his bride, the other stayed with us in Ponyville. My oldest, the one in Manehatten, has children of his own— my precious grandfoals.” She paused and sniffed. Taking a deep breath, she kept talking. “I thought everything was perfect, and then seven years ago, it all started to fall apart. First, my husband and my daughter were in a carriage accident. They—” Bitty squeezed her eyes shut, and tears leaked from the corners. She shuddered with a sob once, then continued. “Afterwards, I tried to put my life back together. I shut myself away in my house, my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures and memories of happier times. I was getting better, until my doctor told me I had chronic kidney disease. I have to receive dialysis three times a week, or else. I didn't have enough money to pay for those treatments. I had a small pension, and my husband had a life insurance policy, but they didn't last forever. Money was getting tight, but I refused to leave my home. I talked to several bankers, but none of them would help me, until finally, I met this slick young stallion who convinced me to do a... ‘Home Equity line of credit,’ he called it. I’m still not one-hundred percent sure what that is, but I know it meant I had enough money to pay the bills for awhile. I knew it put my house up as collateral, but what else could I do? Everything was fine until about nine months ago. The payments for this loan shot sky high. I tried to talk to that slick stallion before the company foreclosed, but it’s too late. It’s way too late. I guess he’s dead now. Serves him right, the charlatan. He didn't even recognize me on the train platform…”

Bitty turned, head held high, ready to face Pinkie’s questions or accusations. Instead, she found everypony watching Pinkie and Slate dancing the tango up and down the car, with a rose held in Pinkie’s mouth. She had a huge, shining grin on her face, while Slate held a nasty scowl on his. He kept trying to get away from her, but no matter how he strained, it didn't seem to interrupt Pinkie’s two-step. Slate growled, “get offa me!” as he roughly body checked Pinkie away. They broke apart, but only because he bounced off of her, stumbled, and fell onto his rump.

“AH-HA!” Pinkie exclaimed with one hoof in the air. She wore her detectives’ hat and moustache again. How or where she got them, only Pinkie knew. “So you knew Felix before you stepped onto this train, and you have an excellent reason to kill him.” Everypony blinked several times and shook their heads to reset their focus on Pinkie and Bitty.

Slate stood and dusted himself off. He tilted his head at Pinkie. “Where did the rose go? And where did you get—”

“That’s right. I knew him, that filthy scam artist.” Ol’ Bitty’s voice had no sugar in it now. “But I didn't kill him. I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to know why he wanted my little home. I wanted to convince him to give it back. I certainly didn't kill him with a pipe wrench!”

Pinkie blew a raspberry and bounced with joy. “I didn't say anything about how you killed him. MURDERER!” She suddenly stopped bouncing and clapped her two front hooves onto Bitty’s cheeks. The skin was wrinkled, and her cheeks deformed to the point that Pinkie looked like she was squashing poor Ol’ Bitty’s face.

Ignis gasped, “That’s right! You never said anything about how Felix was killed! We… we caught her!”

Slate stomped up behind Pinkie and growled, “Leave the old broad alone; you’ll have to do a little better than that. You said she took the pipe wrench, and then accused her of murder. Look at her, are you really sure she done it?”

Pinkie let go of Ol’ Bitty, and her face sagged. The little old mare wobbled on her four legs, and blinked behind her half-moon spectacles. Pinkie puffed on her pipe again. “You’re right, I need more evidence, just like Twilight said. I’m still having trouble with this mystery. Where could it be…?”

Slate chuckled, “Where? Don’t you mean ‘who’?”

Pinkie’s brow went into a flat line, and she snorted. “Rocks aren't really a who, more of a what, silly! Didn't they teach you that in school? Welp, let’s find more clues!” Pinkie bounced away toward the end of the car.

Everypony stood there, dumbfounded. Quill raised one brow and gestured towards Pinkie while looking at everypony else. Tiny nodded and said, “I guess we follow her.”

Slate’s eye twitched as the rest of the ponies trotted into the next car. “Rocks…?” he mumbled to himself.

“Are you coming?” Pinkie asked from the doorway to the next car. “I have a good feeling there’ll be rocks in the next car; I can’t wait!”

Everypony rolled their eyes and followed Pinkie.