The Amber Apple

by defender2222

Chapter 3

I tend to steer clear of mares.

It isn't because I have a problem with them. Like any red blooded Equestrian male I enjoy the sight of a dame with a nice flank, her mane down up in rolling curls and her eyes fluttering as she slips under the sheets. The problem is the type of gals that catch my eye.

Every stallion knows about the mare their mother wants them to end up with; a sweet little thing that laughs at their jokes, cooks their favorite meals and gives them a kiss as they head out the door. They are also the dames that will cry at the drop of a hat and fall to pieces if you forget their birthdays. They are fragile things that shun the spotlight and dream of their foals marrying weak-willed dames just like them.

Personally, I like a dame with a bit of fire in her belly. The mares I've been with could drink most stallions under the table and still be able to tan your flank if your eye wandered. I like a dame with passion, which is great till that passion turns to frustration and she decides to stick you with one of her sewing needles. I speak from experience.

If ever there was a mare that could hold my eye, it would be Applejack. Maybe it was the way her hair swung about as she bucked one of the nosy reporters that had wandered up to her house, sending the slime tumbling down the lane head over flank. Could have been the sweet nothings she cussed as she ranted and raved at the vultures, telling them to get lost before she made them all mares. I might just have a thing for a dame that enjoys what she’s doing, be it bucking apples or sending the paperboys scurrying away. I didn't know what it was but I knew I needed to be careful around her. I'd end up in a bed because of her if I got to close, though I didn't know of it'd be hers or the hospital’s.

"If I see any of ya on my property again I'll tie ya up and leave ya for the timberwolves!" she called out to the retreating forms of the newsies that were galloping back to Ponyville with their pride and backsides bruised. The sweet thing turned her sights on me, her glare so cold I was sure my wings were icing over. "You best hurry along too! Your friends were smart enough to git while the gittin' was good!"

"They aren't my friends, sweetheart," I said, deciding it was in my best interest to plant my hooves out of range of hers. "Name's Thunderlane. Your Aunt Orange hired me to look into your uncle's death."

The mare's mood didn't improve much with that bit of news. "I wish she hadn't done that. Better if this all got settled so we could begin moving on."

"Even at the cost of the truth?"

It was a low blow. Applejack's face twisted like she'd bitten into an apple only to find it filled with dirt. I'd seen that look many times and I usually ended up paying for it; I had the scars to prove it.

"You speak your mind, don't ya?"

"To a fault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that."

I shrugged, adjusting my hat and skirting around her as I made my way towards the house. It was an impressive structure, if only for the fact that it hadn't been reduced to kindling by the march of time. There was something to say about a house that managed to survive longer than its builders; houses like that told stories just like any pony and I wondered what tales the old wood would whisper to me.

"Thunderlane," Applejack called out, trotting ahead of me and barring my path. "I mean no offense... it’s just my sister is in there and she's already pretty shook up 'bout what happened. I know you have a job ta do and there ain't much i can do to stop ya-"

"If I hurt the little one then you buck me real good, sweetheart" I said. I favored her with a smile not filled with wit or sarcasm; a rarity when it came to me. "I got a short one back home that dances around my hooves... so don't worry that pretty head of yours. I can play nice when needed."

"Thank ya," Applejack said before slamming her front right hoof into my shoulder. "That's for calling me sweetheart again." She turned and made her way inside, leaving me with an aching shoulder and a bug in my ear.

Oh yeah, that dame was going to be trouble.

Valencia Orange was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house, which wasn’t surprising. Gals like that are all nails and steel when they got something in their corner but the moment you pull the wall away and leave them with only the wind to support them they scurry away like field mice. Valencia wasn’t like the Apple Family, who met me head on the moment I walked into the living room. She was simply made of inferior stock.

The Apples though were a product of good breeding and better values. Each of them was a strong pony in their way and what they might lack in big city wits they made up for in common sense. If the world were filled with just ponies like them I’d spend more time in my office sucking down the cider.

Course, that didn’t mean I trusted them a lick. Every pony is guilty in my eyes.

I didn’t go for small talk and neither did they. No need to waste words when everypony wanted to move things along. “Name’s Thunderlane. I’ve been hired to look into the death of Mosely Orange. I hope you don’t mind if I ask a few questions.”

“Eh? Ya want ta do what now?” Granny Smith, the eldest of the Apples, called out from her rocking chair, her eyelids half shut. Ponies like her were long lived and there was still vitality in her that would make pegasi and unicorns half her age jealous. But time had a way of wearing you down. No parent should have to bury their child and Granny Smith had learned that sad truth several times in her long life and it wore her down like a river rock.

“He wants to ask us some questions!” Applejack shouted at her grandmother.

“Well why didn’t ya just say so?” Granny complained before falling asleep.

The Apples watched me with raised eyebrows as I pulled a notebook out from under my hat. My wings rose above my head as I twitched my feathers and brought out a custom quill I always kept hidden in my plumage. It was an old trick I had learned from my grandfather and while it looked strange, being able to write with my wings let me fire out questions without having to talk around a piece of wood clutched in my teeth.

“Wow, that’s a neat trick!” the littlest one, Applebloom, exclaimed. “How do ya do that, Mister?”

“Practice and lots of it,” I said kindly. Even for a hard snout like myself there was something about a kid that kept me from snapping and hollering. I tend not to have too many weaknesses in this life but a pair of wide eyes and a little smile always made me go a touch softer. “Now, I hear you found your uncle… is that right?”

Applebloom nodded her head, much of her earlier youthful glee draining from her form as she remembered the dark discovery. “Yes sir.”

I could tell she was getting antsy and decided to move as quickly as I could. “Applebloom, I know what you saw was scary. I get that. But what I need, cupcake, is for you to think about what the pond looked like before you found your uncle. Can you picture that for me?”

Applebloom screwed up her face, concentrating. “Yes sir… what do you want to know?”

“You’ve been to that pond a lot, right?” She nodded her head. “Was there anything different about it this morning?”

“You mean other than the corpse?”

“Applebloom!” her sister snapped. “Show some respect!”

“Yeah cupcake, other than the body.”

The filly thought about it long and hard. “Well… I didn’t see towels or blankets or anything. If he were going for a swim wouldn’t he have brought one?”

“You’re a smart one,” I said, wings twitching as I wrote down her statement. “I’ll bet most of the coppers on the scene today wouldn’t have thought about that.”

“They wouldn’t?” The filly grinned. “Cutie Mark Detectives!” She twisted her head around to look at her flank, letting out a moan of disappointment.

“Applebloom, why don’t you go play while I talk to Thunderlane, ok?”

“Can I go find Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo?”

“After I’m done with Thunderlane,” Applejack said. “I don’t want any of them reporters gittin’ ta ya.”

“Alright,” the filly said morosely, trotting out of the room.

“Cutie marks,” the mare said, answering the unasked question. “You know how it is.”

“My little brother is going through the same thing, sw…Applejack.” I turned towards the last member of the little family, Big Macintosh himself. Now, I’m not a small fry in the slightest. Most pegasi have to glance up if they want to look me in the eye. But that big boy that sat before me made me feel like a colt again. Everything about his frame spoke of strength and it was for the good of all society that he tended to stay on the farm; a stallion like him could make the black and blue rightly nervous if he went storming through town.

He was staring at me in a way that set me on edge. It wasn’t the look he was giving, as it was the same, lazy glance he gave most everything. There was just something about him that set my guts twisting and I’d learned early on that it was wise to trust those instincts.

“You mind me asking a few questions of you?”

“Nope.”

“Your Aunt Valencia said that your uncle decided to make this trip quite suddenly. Do you know why?”

“Nope.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “What did he say when he asked if he could come?”

“Didn’t ask,” Big Mac stated. “Just showed up at our door… had me all kinds of shocked.”

I stared at his dull expression and wondered just what ‘shocked’ would look like on him. “So it’s unusual for family to suddenly show up.”

“Nope.”

I gave him a glare that would have had most stallions stammering out answers. On Big Mac all it did was make the farmer blink.

Applejack cleared her throat. “We are always havin’ family pop in without givin’ us a word that they’re gonna be showin’ up on our doorstep. That’s why the guest room is always made up and ready ta go.”

“Then why were you so surprised to see your Uncle Orange?”

“We expect our kin… Braeburn or Red Gala or Apple Bumpkin. They’s the ones that will show up with a smile on their face and a suitcase at their hooves for a surprise visit. But for Uncle Orange to just show up is somethin’ none of us expected.”

“He doesn’t come often?”

Applejack shook her head. “Uncle and Aunt Orange ain’t been to the farm since Applebloom was a foal and that weren’t for the best of reasons.”

“What do you mean by that?” I pressed.

The two farmers looked at each other, faces twitching like they had both been struck by muscle spasms. The only sound in the room was the steady snoring of Granny Smith and the air seemed to thicken like syrup as I waited for them to speak.

“They last came because our pa and ma died,” Big Macintosh said quietly, the great giant fighting back tears as he thought of that dark day. I didn’t fault him… losing your parents was tough, especially when you had to be strong for a little one.

“I’m sorry,” I said simply. I gave them only a moment to collect themselves before continuing. “Any idea why he had his saddle in a twist to come visit you?”

“Nope.”

I figured as much. Mosely Orange liked to play things close to the vest it seemed and even in death he wasn’t going to be offering up any free information. Dead ponies do tell tales but they are so tricky to get to that most often it takes a stubborn stallion to rip them free.

Luck for me I had a stubborn streak nearly as long as my tail.

“Thunderlane, if there is nothing else we’d like to be alone,” Applejack said. “It’s… it’s been a bad day. Uncle Orange’s death stirred up something things…”

“Only one more question, Miss Apple. What did your aunt and uncle do while they were staying on the farm?”

“Oh, not much.”

I narrowed my eyes. It was just like I had told Splitter: Applejack could not lie worth a lick. Her smile was forced and her eyes just a bit too wide, beads of sweat rolling down her brow. I’d seen babies that were better at hiding their true emotions than that mare. Didn’t even take me uttering a single word to get her to begin stammering and fussing.

“Ok ok!” she finally exclaimed. “Uncle Orange left pretty much after he showed up.”

“Left where?” I pressed.

“Don’t know, ok? He just done left. One minute he is greetin’ us and askin’ us how we are, the next he is out the door sayin’ he needs to take a walk, wantin’ to get some fresh air. We didn’t see him again till near supper time and he refused to say a word about where he’d gone too. Just went to his room.”

“Why not tell me sooner? Why the lie?”

Applejack glared at me. “Wasn’t lyin’ I just… didn’t think it was important.”

She was trying to pull another fast one on me. I knew something was up but I decided to hold onto that card… sometimes it plays to hold onto an ace until you needed to win a bigger pot.

“You mind if I take a look around your guest room?”

“Go right ahead,” Applejack said, heading towards the stairs. The farm pony led me down a narrow hall filled with photos. The walls had become discolored, showing the ghostly shadows of where frames had once hung, only to be shifted or replaced as new images took their place. The worn oak door that led to the guest room creaked as Applejack pushed it open with her head, admitting us into the room.

I could see why Valencia Orange would have turned her nose up at spending a night in that room. I’d seen closets bigger than where the Apple family expected their guests to hang their hats. The bed was a tiny thing that been old when Granny Smith was a filly and the scent of soap and mothballs filled my nose the moment I took my first step inside.

Applejack left me to my own devices and I began to go through the drawers, searching out evidence. There were spare sheets and an extra set of work bibs in the dresser and under the bed was dust clumps and a shoebox full of old baby bibs dotted with stains.

Mosely’s overnight bag yielded better results not for what it held but what it lacked. He’d thrown only a few belongings inside but they seemed even smaller when one looked down upon them, the insides of that saddle bag swallowing them up. The scent of fine man’s cologne wafted from the nearly empty bag and it was clear that Mosely normally had it packed to the brim from the way the zipper bugled in places. The haphazard manner in which his possessions had been tossed inside made me believe that it had been his own hooves that had crammed them inside and not a maid. That only supported everypony’s story that he had come for the visit in a hurry and he hadn’t planned the trip.

Leaving the bag behind I set my sights on the trash can. Even the most secretive of ponies gets sloppy when it comes of disposing things and Mosely Orange was no exception. Underneath nearly a box-worth of makeup-stained tissues I found a receipt.

“Sugarcube Corner, hmmm?” I muttered to myself, looking over the slip. “You went into town for your walk, didn’t you Mr. Orange.” According to the slip, Mosely had gotten a couple of cupcakes, a lemon square and 2 cups of coffee. “And just who were you visiting with?”

I tucked the receipt under my hat and decided to make my escape. I was two steps away from the door when I noticed something concealed behind the nightstand. I got down on my belly, noticing that much of the dust on the floor had been wiped away near the dresser, leaving the wood bright. My nose bumped against the table and I wiggled my head back and forth, making enough space for me to be able to reach my tongue out and grasp the finely woven bit wallet that had become trapped beside the wall.

“Interesting,” I muttered to myself. “Can’t see Mosely Orange going anywhere without you.” It was clear from the way the floor had been buffed that Mosely had attempted to retrieve his bit wallet the day before. “Why didn’t he then?” I whispered, setting it down on the bed and opening it with my mouth. I’d known it would be full from the heft of it but seeing all those golden little bars glimmering back at me had my raising an eyebrow. Mosely had come to town weighed down by quite a bit of bits. Much more than he would need if he were just staying with family.

But that wasn’t all to be found in the wallet.

I gently nudged out a slip of paper. It was the confirmation slip to a money order; that wouldn’t have been too interesting, except it had been made out in Manehattan just the day before. I had no idea the amount but it was clear that Mosely had brought more than bits with him on his visit.

None of it added up. If Mosely had been suicidal then why come to the Apple Family Farm? Why bring so many bits? Why get a money order and what had happened to it? If it hadn’t been suicide but an accident then why had he been out by the pond in the middle of the night and why bring that necklace? If he had just gone for a swim where were the towels like Applebloom had questioned?

And if it was murder… who had lured him to the farm? And for what purpose?

Those thoughts bumped and bounced around in my skull as I made my way back outside. The Apple Family offered half-hearted requests for me to come by if I needed anything else. They were hoping never to see my face again and I didn’t blame them. Ponies like me only led to trouble and it is a fool who hoped to see me calling.

A pity for the owners of Sugarcube that I was planning on doing just that.

Comments

[defender2222]

How to Write a Mystery

Part 3: Your Hero (Part 1)

He could be an anti-social sleuth. Or a hardboiled detective with a soft spot. Maybe a cop that crosses the line between right and wrong to get the bad guys. Your detective can be anyone from a cop to a private eye to someone who stumbled into the business. The point is that your story will bring people back based on how good the hero is.

One of the important things you must decide is why your detective is driven to solve cases. Was there a murder he could never solve? Was her husband killed by a corrupt businessman who got off the charge? Did they witness something as a child? Do they do it for love or the need to know?

And what of the little quirks every person has? Does your detective have a nervous twitch or a bad habit? Do they smoke or curse or rub their nose when they see a clue? Sherlock Holmes, the granddaddy of the modern detective, was a cocaine using anti-social who liked to shoot his gun inside and would play the violin. Thunderlane is a smartmouth who gives everyone a nickname and likes the cider just a bit too much.

These are the things you think about, the little clues you pepper throughout your story to help develop a bigger world...

[FacadeArt]

The perfect theme when he sweeps the guest room

Now where did i put that fedora...?

[defender2222]

1432562

I actually own one and wear it when I act out Thunderlane's part

What does everyone think of how I wrote AJ and her family?

[Joy Stick]

1432626
I think you did perfectly on AJ, Mac, and Granny. AB could use a little more work. But you did well, nonetheless

[RetroGamer1224]

I agree. The apples were done well. I think AB would be a little more bravish just due to having that bravadao on the show. All in all a wonderful story.

[defender2222]

1437539

My only excuse is that she just found her uncle dead. I plan to make her more brave later in the story.

[notMurphy]

This is an interesting story, a sort of pastel noir

Out of curiosity, what made you pick Thunderlane as the protagonist?

[defender2222]

1455118

The fact he had very little definition to his character, plus he is already black and white, so he looks like he is from a noir

[notMurphy]

1455633 Makes sense, you get the best of a character who's had screen time without a mountain of fanon to dig through.

... just imagined what your version must be thinking while Dash chews him out during 'Hurricane Fluttershy'

[defender2222]

1456301

Thunderlane was lying about his cold because he was investigating a conspiracy to murder Spitfire, thus he had to play weak and dumb... but once he was better he chewed 'the dame' out.

[notMurphy]

1456317 youhaveasequellplannedalready?
coool

[Emilise284]

I like a dame with passion, which is great till that passion turns to frustration and she decides to stick you with one of her sewing needles. I speak from experience.
Another Rarity reference? I can't wait until they meet. Favorited, followed, and liked. :)