The Auburn Hotel was eight stories of old brick and reputation on the south side of Sixth Avenue. It was one of the city’s oldest high-rises, lording over the old street like the citadel of some ancient fortress.
It could’ve been a fortress, for all I cared. It wouldn’t stop me. I shoved through the entrance, past the surprised doorpony, past the flustered bellhop. My hooves hammered up the stairs, beat against the rough carpet of the hall, and all but battered down a particular door.
The voice that answered was muffled, but still carried that rusty squeak. “Who is it?”
“Housekeeping,” I growled. “Look through the peephole.”
A moment passed as I glared up at the door. The slide and deadbolt clicked, and Red Oak stood there, his hoof on the handle.
“Miss Applejack?” he said, frowning. “You’re here at a—”
I took a step forward, planting a hoof on the door. “I told you I would figure every last bit of this out, Mr. Oak. And I’m a mare of my word.” Putting my weight behind my shoulder, I shoved my way in.
He staggered back, all but tripping over his hooves. “M-Miss Applejack! What are you—”
“Sit down!” I barked. “I’ve just been shot at, so I’m not in a good mood.”
His rear hooves hit the edge of a chair, and he fell back into it. “S-shot at? But how—”
“Because you’ve been lying to me, Mr. Oak.” I dropped my voice to the floor, letting it grate against the rug. “Now, I understand if you don’t want to give me the whole story right off the bat, but if you’re going to be sending me into harm’s way, the least you can do is tell me so.”
His head shook like a flag in a stiff wind. “N-no! I didn’t—”
“You didn’t think there’d be guns?” I threw a hoof towards the window. “Welcome to Manehattan, Mr. Oak! Didn’t you hear it’s the nicest city in the world?”
“No! I-I mean, I know—I mean, I knew there was a chance of this sort of thing, b-but I…” He trailed off. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. He swallowed. “Believe me, Ms. Applejack, I had no idea. I told you everything I knew going in. In fact, I—”
“Shut up.”
He shut up.
I leaned in, drilling my gaze into his. “If there’s one thing I will not stand, it’s somepony lying straight to my face. I found some letters in her apartment, Mr. Oak. Your letters. You two were still talking only a week ago.” I let some teeth into my scowl. “Could’ve sworn you said your last contact with her was over a month back.”
He stared back at me, mouth agape and ears flat. His jaw made little up-and-down motions, as though he were trying to nibble his way out.
“So now I’m curious,” I continued. “I want to know what her last letter said. What did she tell you that got you all the way into Manehattan like there was a fire under you? What did she tell you that you ain’t tellin’ me?”
He kept gasping like a fish for a moment, then he blinked once, long and hard. He took a deep breath, meeting my gaze. “She said not to tell anypony.”
I let my teeth show again. “Mr. Oak…”
“It’s the truth, I swear! Here, you want to know what she said? I’ll let her say it.” He reached into his coat, and pulled out an envelope. “This is her last letter, the one that brought me here.”
I snatched it from him and looked it over. It wasn’t a very long or a very good read.
My Darling Oak,
I’m afraid this is going to be my last letter for a while, as I’m going to be very busy. Remember Mr. Craggle’s window? It’s sort of like that. I’ll write you again as soon as I can.
With all my love,
Sugar Beet
Slowly, I lowered the letter. “Mr. Oak, you had better be pullin’ my tail.”
“No, no, I’m not! Let me explain.” He took a step forward and pointed at the text. “There’s a hidden meaning to it. See this part here? Mr. Craggle was this old coot who lived a ways down from my family’s place. When we were foals, Sugar and I managed to break one of his windows playing ball.”
He straightened up, looking at me square in the eye. “We swore we’d never tell a soul we’d gone and broken the window. That’s how I know she’s in trouble. She’s gone and done something that has to be kept secret, kept just between us.” He pawed at the floor. “That’s why I came to you instead of the police, Miss Applejack. I thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought anymore.”
The sound of the city crept into the room. It came in on timid hooves and sat down in one of the nearby chairs.
“And that’s the whole truth?” I said quietly.
He held up a solemn hoof. “That’s the whole truth. I’m truly sorry, Ms. Applejack. If you want to be done with this case and be done with me, I won’t blame you.” He picked a wallet off of the nearby table. “We’ll settle the debt, and that’ll be the end of it.”
I looked at the wallet, then at him. “I’m insulted, Mr. Oak.”
He cringed.
“I’m insulted that you think I’d leave a job unfinished. I’m a better worker than that.”
He looked at me like a bird fresh from its egg, seeing the light for the first time. “You… Are you sure, Ms. Applejack?”
“When I say something, I mean it.” I gave him the edge of a smile. “Besides, I’m really curious now.”
A shaky grin broke out across his face. “Thank you, Ms. Applejack. I… I don’t know what else to say.”
“You can start by telling me everything else you know. I know you’ve got more of her letters. Did she say anything else in them?”
“Well, no. Nothing I thought out of the ordinary.”
“Let’s have a gander at them all the same. I’d bet there’s some clue to be had somewhere.”
He looked away, chewing his lower lip. “You… want to see all of them?”
I raised an eyebrow. “That a problem?”
“W-well, no. But, it’s just, some of her letters are a bit… intimate.”
I stared at him. “There’s this thing we call ‘professional distance’, Mr. Oak. Trust me, she’d need to be quite the poet to move this old heart of mine.”
“Uh… Okay.”
We moved to the room’s lone table, taking our seats on a sofa that had been carved by some stoneworker a thousand years ago. I doffed my hat, setting it down next to the letters as Mr. Oak spread them across the table. I scanned through the dates, picked up the oldest, and started reading. It was typical stuff. She was doing well. Stories from her first day. She wished he was here.
“So why’d she decide to come to Manehattan, anyway?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, shuffling in his seat, “Sugar’s always had her eye on the big city, even when we were foals.”
“Lots of little fillies like to dream big.” I passed the letter to him. “She have a plan for her life here?”
A sad smirk tugged at his lips. “Kind of hard to plan for much in this day and age. But she had enough of a plan. She’d come here, find work and start sending money back home, keeping in touch the whole way. She hopped on the first train out of Budding Spring.”
I picked up the next letter, though I kept my eyes on him. “She wasn’t happy on the farm?”
His ears drooped, just slightly. “She… didn’t live on the plantation. At least, not until we were engaged.”
“And how’d she take to it?”
He shifted his shoulders, hunching them as though a draft had blown in. “Well enough. At least, I think so.” He was quiet for a moment. Something moved behind his eyes. “She just never forgot about going to Manehattan.”
I nodded. “Some fillies dream big.”
My gaze fell to the letter. Her first day at work went well. Names of new ponies she’d met. Still thinking about him.
“So tell me a bit more about her. She’s obviously smart.”
His face brightened. “Oh, yes. Definitely. She’s… brilliant.”
“Strong words, there, Mr. Oak.”
“They’re deserved. She was always top of her class. She cleared business school in only three years.”
“And all that with a little beet for a cutie mark?”
“Like I said, she’s brilliant.”
I nodded again. Next letter. She was sending a bit of money this time. Hoped he was doing well. She thought about him every day, and every night as she lay in bed, the sweaty sheets wrapped around her and…
Professional distance. I passed that one off quickly.
“You said you were shot at, Ms. Applejack?”
I gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah. What of it?”
“Do… Do you have any idea why?”
“The stallion holding the gun said it was nothing personal. It’s just that he’d seen his parents get killed by a freckled mare when he was a colt. He had to take precautions, is all.” I turned to him. He was staring at me, wide-eyed. I smirked. “I haven’t a clue. Looking for one.”
This one was dated around three weeks ago. The firm was crunching numbers for the city government before the election. She was very busy. She’d still make sure her next letter was on time.
“Can I ask you something personal, Ms. Applejack?”
“I won’t stop you, if that’s what you really mean.”
His left ear twitched; he nibbled his lip for a moment. “Why do you do it? This whole private detective thing, I mean.”
“It’s a living.”
“Well, of course. But, there’s plenty of other ways to make a living, right?”
“Like working a plantation?”
He chuckled, once. “Point taken. Still, did you ever consider something else? Why be a detective?”
I let out a slow breath. “Truth is, snooping suits me. It’s not glamorous. It’s not clean. It’s not easy. But it’s mostly honest work, and it pays. That’s good enough for me.”
I took up the next letter. It was shorter than the others. It hardly filled a page.
My Darling Oak,
There’s been some interesting happenings at work. I don’t want to say anything more here except “don’t worry.” Everything’s still as right as rain.
I even met somepony new the other day. His name is Flying Quill. We met over coffee and we’ve sort of become “pen pals”, you might say. If you ever get the chance to come to the city, I’d very much like for you to meet him. He’s a reporter for Halter’s Weekly, and he’s shared a lot of stories about the city with me.
In all honesty, that’s about all I can say concerning the past week. I’ve sent some money along this time. I hope it finds you well, and that you’ll continue to be the bright, upright stallion I know you are. Every time I receive one of your letters, it’s as though the sun is shining again.
With all my love,
Sugar Beet
“This ‘Flying Quill,’” I said, “You know anything else about him?”
He frowned. “No. That’s the reporter she mentioned, right?”
“Yeah.” I passed him the letter. “Any idea why she’d be meeting with a reporter?”
“None at all.”
I picked up the remaining letter. It was postmarked about a week ago.
My Darling Oak,
Remember that pony I talked about in my last letter? I’ve been speaking with him some more, and I may have picked up on a huge opportunity. I can’t say any more, but rest assured it’s something big. I’ll let you know if and when I have something concrete. In the meantime, I’m going to have to keep my talk on this matter brief. He says its better that way.
Anyway, it’s lovely to hear that you’re doing so well. Is the side garden still not coming in proper? It might be because the plants know it’s autumn, even if it doesn’t show it. How they’d muster the smarts for that, I don’t know, but…
The rest was just small talk. I turned back to Oak. “At the start of this one here, she doesn’t name him, even though it’s got to be the same pony.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know. Is there any hidden meaning to this ‘garden’ business?”
“None that I can tell.”
“And the next letter is her very last?”
“Yes’m.”
I leaned back, my hooves crossed in front of my chest. I glanced at the letters spread over the table, turned them over in my head. They spun and tumbled like a deck of cards thrown against a wall. I picked them up, shuffled them, counted their suits and numbers, looking for a pattern. There were jokers in the deck, somewhere. Wild cards.
“Ms. Applejack?”
I looked at him. “Well, a name’s a lead.” I tossed my hat onto my head. “I’ll let you know if it turns out to be worth anything.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Can’t rightly get you two back together again if I just sit around. There’s still daylight left to burn.” I gave him a quick grin, then made my way to the door and opened it. I was just about to step through when he spoke again.
“Ms. Applejack?”
I turned to look at him, my hoof on the doorknob. “Yeah?”
“I… I just wanted to say thank you again. I think you’re just about the only friend I’ve had in this city. The only friend I’ve had in a long while.”
I looked at him a moment. Then I tipped my hat to him. “Take care, Mr. Oak.” I swung the door closed and made my way down the hall as quickly as I could.
Professional distance. I always leave when the job starts getting personal.