Carmine Gumshoe

Carmine always enjoyed the sand on his hooves. The grainy, loose texture was always a nice antonym to the clodded and clumpy dirt that permeated his childhood. The salty water and the smell of the collective ocean life's toilet did little to entice him, but the sand... the sand was always an enticer. The chill of autumn made swimming nigh unbearable, but the sun beating down on the trillions of sand grains did make the sandy floor nice and warm. He saw something floating off in the distance. Driftwood... or a towel? He was too far too see clearly. Squinting at small lettering and poor care of his eyes has lead to an early decline. As anyone would, he began to idly walk down toward the shape. It was a good distance away, but it gave him the desire to step forward. To investigate. The beach was completely rid of any other souls, save for a stray figure in a colorful robe running toward the bushline where the reeds and grass began poking up from the lessening sand. What were they doing out here? Then again, they may very well have asked Carmine the same thing, should their paths cross. It was always odd, seeing a beach so barren and empty. If they could talk, they may plead for visitors, for someone to enjoy its refreshing bounty of sand and water. In the summer, when ponies desire to visit, it's the most revered thing in existence. Everyone flocks to the beach when the conditions are right. But in the other months, when Demeter mourned Persephone's loss and the cold seeped in, no one would even give the beach a passing thought. Carmine... believed that beaches and himself shared the similarities. No one sees a PI unless they have a problem. Problem. Problems always seem to arise whenever he's around. Everywhere he goes there's either a death, a theft, sometimes a mixture of both or in the very, very rare occasions there were eventless trips. Even after, he returned home to similar problems. Part of him couldn't help but wonder why? Was his presence really so awful that the subconscious mind drifts toward crimes? Or... perhaps the crimes were always destined to happen and, in a more optimistic light, he was sent there to fix them? The figure became closer. It looked like a decoration with how it floated on the surface. Nightmare Night was coming up soon. Perhaps a costume was taken prisoner by the wind and thrown into the ocean. But... there were no homes out here, not this close to the beach. Perhaps a family just lost one on their way home from the store? An ocean of reasons, surrounded by an ocean. Ocean. Valor loved the ocean. The swimming, specifically. The only time their roles were reversed from the Party Animal to the Fuddy Duddy were when they took small trips to the beach. Valor swam in the ocean, said it was for "wing training" when really he was just splashing around. Carmine, on the other hoof, always had a book or a sand castle mold to try out. He'd just watch on while the No Nonsense Knight nonsensically swam around. How he missed seeing that goofy pegasus jet out his wings. The way the water glistened off the feathers created a beautiful, bright rainbow... how he wished to see that rainbow again. The object in the water was closer. An albatross flew overhead, perching on the object... a stallion, floating nose down, completely motionless. Dead. Carmine heaved a heavy sigh... it happened again. He felt it in his heart before the image became clear. The authorities needed to be called... but first, to gather what he knows. He rolled up the sleeves on his pant legs and stepped closer to the corpse. It was recent, the poor sap hadn't looked waterlogged. "...Male. Early twenties, cause of death... potentially drowned." He saw blood forming in a pool under the stallion, painting the pristine blue into a gross, murky green. "Stab or cut wound. Older coat, younger male. It's not his... probably borrowed, if not stolen by the perp in order to disguise him. Scene of the crime..." he looked across from where the stallion was floating onto the beach. No blood or sharp objects. He sniffed the air. "...Probably elsewhere. The beach may have been a means of disposal, not the scene of the murder itself. Use the blood to draw out a shark, maybe...?" No, he was presuming too much. This was all purely speculation, nothing's been verified yet, but it gave him plenty of hunches to go off on. He couldn't touch the body, not until the authorities had gotten a look... so this was about all he could do here. After memorizing the location of where the stallion's body had been discovered, he carefully stepped out from the water and onto the lovely, sandy beach. Now, to find a pay phone... The beach was nice while it lasted.