> The Amber Apple
>  by defender2222
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

They say Manehattan is the city that never sleeps. If that is the case then Ponyville is the town that never awakes. 

It is a sleepy village; so many ponies come here believing they have found some peaceful little hamlet to spend their days in. After a life of chaos and confusion they look at Ponyville like it is some kind of fairytale. It is a dream come true... until it becomes a waking nightmare. It is in the quietest places the evil can grow and I have seen in this town things that would leave the most hardened Manehattanite trembling under their covers.

Underneath the pristine façade this town presents to the outside world there is a dark underbelly, teeming with corruption and filth. Everypony turns a blind eye to it, refusing to believe that such darkness could be found so close to home. 

It's like they say: the greatest trick Nightmare Moon ever played was convincing the world she wasn't real.

The name’s Thunderlane. I’m a private eye. 

The weather team had filled the sky with dreary clouds that kept the sun from shining. It was a day that made a stallion want to stay in bed rather than face a life that wasn’t worth living. That was fine by me… I had no place to be and a mind filled with uneasy thoughts. Hard to brood when the sun was shining and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air. Sometimes the shadows can be your best friends, especially when you have a troubled mind.

I had just gotten done looking into a theft at Doodad’s Toy Shop. It was a boring little affair that was hardly worth my time. The entire case left me longing for more but my door seemed to be bolted shut. So, while my secretary Silver Pond filed her hooves I decided to toast the bad weather with a bit of hard cider.

Celestia is a cruel mistress though and saw to it that I couldn't get a drink in peace. I had no sooner uncorked the bottle then Pond rapt on my door.

"You have a client, boss," the mare said. She was a cute little bundle of nerves with an unfortunate name; a pale teal gal with golden mane and a file full of papers as her cutie mark. There wasn't a drop of silver anywhere on her and I don't think the poor thing had ever taken a dip in a body of water bigger than a tub. Sometimes parents are cruel when it comes to names, not realizing that the moniker one is stuck with can haunt them for the rest of their days. 

“Show’em in,” I grunted, placing the cider jug back in my desk and pulling out a soybean stem. I’d just lit the tip and taken my first puff when Pond opened the door and let my new client in.

She was a pale dame with a coat the color of yellowed cream and a mane like golden straw that’d been out in the sun for too long. Not that this one would be caught dead outside if she could help it. She’d done her best to make herself look pretty but it was more for show than anything. I could see it in her red-rimmed eyes that she had never expected to find herself in a place like mine; silly dame should have known better. No one expects to be standing before me and those that do tend to take the precautions needed to prevent the kind of tragedy I deal in from touching a hair on their pretty little heads. 

“Mr. Thunderlane?” she whispered, as if she were afraid of being heard. She was a Manehattanite, and a rich one at that if the jewels around her neck were any indication. Already the dame had me interested and she hadn’t spoken more than two words. What brings a mare like this down from her ivory tower to slum it in the dirt with the rest of us? The answer was the same as it always was: trouble.

Already the day was looking better and better.

“That’s the name, sweetheart,” I drolled out, flicking my wing towards an empty chair. “Take a seat before you fall.”

She collapsed in the chair, all sense of poise lost to her as she struggled to contain herself. I’ve found that of all the species that make their way through Equestria is was earth ponies who had to work the hardest at being upper crust blue bloods. Unicorns are just naturally snooty and pegasi are good little soldiers that are designed to adapt. Earth ponies are meant to be on the ground, not up in the sky, which is why it was so rare to find them in the skyscrapers with those that decide the fate of all the rest of us. The few that managed to get a seat at the big table spend the rest of their days trying to fight their more basic urges.

But this dame… this one had seen trouble recently and it was leaving her out of sorts. She found herself in situation not of her own making and she knew she needed to find somepony to get her out.

Lucky for her, trouble was what I specialized in.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she said softly, dabbing at her eyes with a silk hankie.

“Your name would be a wonderful place to start, sweetheart,” I stated. I leaned back, letting a plume of soy-smoke drift from my mouth. It hung over our heads like the clouds that currently blanketed Ponyville’s skies. I figured if it was good enough for this town, it was good enough for me.

"My name is Valencia Orange. My husband is... was... Mosely Orange." She said his name not quite with pride but with expectation. Her husband had been a powerful stallion and she was use to his moniker opening doors and leaving those around her bowing at the mere mention. 

But the trouble with names is there aren't solid. Their weight and heft is determined not by the holder. On one night a certain name can get you free drinks. 24 hours later and it will get you a knife in your belly. That was the risk you held when you tried to make your way through the world with just a name and nothing to back it up.

I just stared at Valencia, sending up another puff of smoke. If she thought muttering her hubby's name was going to get her in my good graces she was sadly mistaken. Names and promises don't pay my rent. 

She finally relented, head falling to stare at my scuffed up hardwood. "Mosely and I are from Manehattan... he was the heir to the Sun Blessed Orange Grove."

Now she was getting somewhere. Sun Blessed Oranges were about as well known as the Apple Family's crop. The family had a rep for being snobs, having long left their groves in the care of farm hands while they rubbed shoulders with Equestria's elite. If the heir to Sun Blessed was mixed up in all of this that meant there was bits involved. Bits meant trouble.

"How did you husband die?"

Valencia gave a little start. "How did you know he died? It hasn’t even appeared in the papers yet.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at my little smoke clouds. "You stumbled when you called him your husband. Went from present to past tense. That means it was recent and you are still in shock. Besides-" I snubbed my soybean stem out in the ashtray that sat next to my typewriter, "-when a gal with flanks like yours comes strutting into my office talking like you are, it usually means her husband is with the angels."

Valencia's lower lip wobbled and she sucked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Most stallions would have felt bad for making a dame cry; with my experience I wait to see if they are going to pull out a knife and try and cut me a new smile.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out a soybean stem. The whimpering dame looked ready to turn it down but her frazzled nerves won out and she accepted it, leaning forward so I could light the tip. A few puffs steadied her nerves and she was able to compose herself enough to tell me her story.

"My Mosely brought me to this horrible little town to see his family. You know of the Apples, right?" I didn't even bother to nod. Everypony within 40 miles knew of the Apple Family. "My husband's sister was married to Brown Snout."

Of course. If there was ever a family that was cursed it was the Apple Family.  Half the plots in the Ponyville Cemetery were filled with members of that family, many of them having punched their ticket all too soon.

"His kids are the ones running Sweet Apple, aren't they?" I asked.

Valencia nodded. "Yes. Macintosh isn't much but Jacqueline had the makings of a fine cultured mare till she threw it all away." Her words were frustrated and I made a mental note to do some more digging when it came to that sour subject.  "We rarely visit but Mosely had it in his head that we needed to come down this year." Valencia looked skyward, shaking her head in frustration. "If he'd just listened to me..."

"Sweetheart, I ain't a shrink so stop treating me as such. Talk to me about the murder or stop wasting my time."

The dame wasn't happy. She was one use to cutting ponies off; being on the other side of it left a bad taste in her mouth. Still, I knew she was desperate and that made her willing to swallow her pride.

"Yesterday morning I heard screams coming from the orchard.”

"You were staying at Sweet Apple Acres?"

"Mosely's idea, I assure you. He was in such a rush to go visit his nephew and nieces that we didn't have time to book a proper hotel and were forced to spend the night in the guest room." She shuddered in revulsion and I got the feeling she was less troubled by her husband's death than she was about sleeping on sheets that didn't have a high thread count. 

"You go see what the trouble was?"

"Indeed. Have you ever been to Sweet Apple Acres?" I shook my head no. "There is a little pond about half a mile from the house that they use as a 'swimming hole'. A disgusting little pit, if I do say so myself. The water is positively brackish and-"

"It was dirty. I get it."

"-when I arrived I found Applebloom, that's the youngest of the children, screaming herself hoarse. I thought she had seen a snake or something but it was far, far worse."

It didn't take a genius to figure out where this was going.

"There was Mosely face down in the water!" Valencia lost the battle with her tears. "There were birds swooping down to peck at his body and they followed even when Jacqueline roped him and began to pull him out. He... he..."

I didn't fault her for becoming upset. I've seen what happens to a body when it is left in the water: bloating, disfiguration, bite marks from fish coming in for a nibble... it was a bad way to go. I would have offered my sympathies but I had learned long ago that you don't go giving those out until you have all the facts; more often than not the swell stallion you are praising turns out to be a twisted son of a wolf.

Valencia took a long drag off the soy stem, letting it fill her lungs before she released it through her nose. Bedecked in her finest she looked like a dragon guarding its horde. "The coroner said it was an accident. Told us that Mosely must have gone for a swim and cramped up. I know that is a lie, detective! My Mosely would never have been caught dead in that water."

"But that is exactly what happened: he was caught there, dead."

Scowling, the dame leaned forward, jabbing her stem towards me, sending bits of ash fluttered down onto my desk. "I didn't come here for jokes, detective. I came for answers. My Mosely was murdered and I want the filthy mule who did it put before a firing squad!" 

"Sweetheart, I'll be happy to look into it."

"Thank you," she said smugly, leaning back and savoring a another drag.

"40 bits a day, plus expenses."

"40 bits?" she exclaimed, nearly dropping her stem.

"And the first two days will be paid up front."

"That's robbery!"

"Well, you can either investigate attempt robbery or murder. The choice is up to you."

Valencia grumbled but finally relented. She reached under her clunky necklace and pulled out her pocketbook, cutting me check for the 80. I took it and made a show of inspected it for authenticity, mostly just to piss her off. I've had more than a few clients try to screw me out of my bits and I wasn't about to go easy on the dame just because she had a pretty face and some sparkly rocks around her neck.

"How do I contact you if I need you?" she asked.

"You don't," I said, stubbing out my stem and grabbing my fedora, placing it over my eyes. "Don't slam the door on your way out, sweetheart."

Valencia huffed, stomped out and shutting the door so hard I was sure it'd fall off its hinges. 

Yeah, this was going to be an interesting one.
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air was so thick it felt like I was breathing day-old pea soup. There wasn’t a drop of rain falling on my back yet I was still covered in a fine mist from the heavy fog that rolled in from across the fields. The sky was veiled with clouds like a widow heading to her husband’s funeral. It was the kind of day death loves and those that chase death love even more. 

Sweet Apple Acres stretched out below me, the trees standing tall like good little soldiers. I gazed down at that blanket of leaves and began to wonder. Even in a town like Ponyville you are measured by how many bits you have to your name and what you can lay claim to.  For all their talk of community, in the end the citizens of this little hamlet were no different than the ponies in Manehattan or Canterlot: bits opened doors and the more you had the more folks wanted to be at your side. And I stared at all those apple trees popping up along the endless acres and began to think… ponies had been driven to crime for a lot less than what the Apple Family controlled.

I banked left, curling my wings as I dove down towards the chaotic scene below me. Several of Ponyville’s finest were milling about the pond, making of good show of looking busy while doing nothing. I landed a few yards away, ignoring the glares the coppers where flashing me. Ponyville’s finest are no different than their big city brothers in that aspect: none of them like it when a private dick comes snooping around. They get all jumpy and start accusing me of interfering with their business, like I’m taking food out of their foals’ mouths. Normally I just smile and let them know that I was thinking the same thing.

“Thunderlane! What are ya doin’ here, ya lazy daft lad? Come to chase the ambulances again?”

Detective Grits. Of course my luck saw to it that he would be working the scene. Grits was everything that was wrong with the police: he was lazy, simple, and unimaginative. The last case he had gotten to the bottom of had been filled with Twinkies. For him it wasn’t a matter of solving a case; all he wanted to do was close it. 

I adjusted my fedora and stared him down, hoping he’d pick a fight. If there is anything in this world that made me smile it is seeing his rotund form trying to keep up with me.

“Lay off Grits, I won’t make you look too bad on this one. Give me a little help and I might mention your name to the papers.”

His ruddy red checked puffed out and his dark little eyes sank deeper into his thick skull. It was a little wonder he kept missing evidence, what with his brow hanging so low over his eyes.  “I won’t be putting up with your tomfoolery today, Thunderlane. We have a tragedy on our hooves here and these fine ponies don’t need the likes of you whispering in their ear, trying to steal their hard earned bits chasing after phantoms. Why don’t you go play in the mud over at Froggy Bottom Bog; maybe you’ll get lucky and your sense of decency will be buried in the filth.”

“Or your ability to arrest the right stallion.” I trotted past him, ducking under the caution tape and making my way towards the pond. “I was invited here by the widow, Grits. Seems word of your stellar record has even reached ears in Manehattan. You want to make a fuss, go right ahead. I’m sure the Widow Orange will be happy to hear you and your colts are wasting my time and her bits trying to prove you have the bigger tail.”

The vein just above his left eyebrow bulged out, thundering in time with his heart. “You have 5 minutes, not a second more!” Grits bellowed. “You hear me, Thunderlane? If you are here 5 minutes and 1 second I will personally haul your flank to lockup.”

“Be the most work you’ve done in months,” I muttered, making my way through the gaggle of beat officers. From the way they were standing there, talking about the hoofball game the night before I knew they’d already made up their minds that this was an accidental death and were just waiting out the clock. If even one of them had a lick of ambition I might have out of a job. Lucky me.

Coming to a stop at the muddy bank I spread my wings and began to hover about the water’s edge. One glance at the murky depths and I knew that the only smoke Valencia had been blowing during our visit was from the soy stem. I couldn’t see a pony like Mosely Orange diving into a scum-infested pond like this one, especially at night; yet that is exactly where they had found him. How did a rich snob like him end up bobbing in the water like an overfed goldfish?

I followed the faint outline of hoofprints the police had managed to not to trample over in their race to destroy the scene. They led around the pond towards a small rise that jutted out over the deepest part of the pond. A withered oak, a remnant from when the Everfree had held domain over the land, perched at the top and an old tire hung from knotted rope like a condemned pony on a noose. If somepony had followed Mosely to the pond they hadn’t been an trotting right behind him. 

Taking one final look at the water, I flew to the other side of the pond, where Rib Split was finishing up with the body. The coroner and I were on good terms, or at least better terms than I was with Grits and his men. The balding cerulean unicorn did not even bother to look up as I landed beside him, his focus entirely on the sapphire glow he was projecting over Mosely Orange’s bloated corpse. Maybe it said something for how twisted we were but both of us were able to look upon the wreckage and not find ourselves humbled by the fact that it had once been a pony. This job jades you, wipes away any sense of innocence and leaves you the ability to look death straight on without batting an eyelash. Of course it also can lead you to hitting the cider, cheating on your wife and betting your pay on the badgers. Still, neither me nor Splitter could see ourselves living a normal life with a wife to cook us pancakes and 2.5 kids needing braces. Some ponies just aren’t designed to live like the rest. Some ponies can’t handle normal.

“You have Grits upset,” Splitter said.

“He’ll live.”

“I hope so. You give in a heart attack and I’ll be the one opening him up.”

“My condolences in advance.”

Splitter scoffed, lifting up Mosely’s rear right leg. Either a lot of little fish had taken a nibble out of it or the Apple Family was stocking sharks in their pond. “What brings you to my happy little scene, Thunderlane?”

“Valencia Orange.”

“Never thought you’d end up on her payroll.” 

“I’m not,” I said gruffly, flapping my wings in an attempt to dry out my feathers.

“Oh, you say that now,” Splitter’s horn flashed and within the glow of his magic I could clearly make out Mosely’s leg bone, “but I’ve seen how that mare looks at ponies, Thunder; like a rabbit stares at a carrot. Once she decides you’re of use to her she’ll do everything she can to keep you.”

“She can barely afford to pay me now,” I stated. I adjusted my hat as I leaned down to get a better look at the corpse. “How long has Mr. Orange been floating in the drink?”

“I won’t know for certain till I get him back to my lab but I can give you an estimate.”

“If your cop bodies will let you hand it out for free I’ll be happy to take it.”

Splitter rolled his eyes. “They aren’t my friends, Thunder. I’m just stuck with them. Besides, I’m not giving you anything I wouldn’t a reporter.”

“Surprise there are none around," I stated.

“Grits drove them off. He has his uses, believe it or not. I think he enjoys seeing how many curses he can utter before the news boys are forced to delete his quote from their stories.”

“Where are the vultures?”

“I think they are all hunkered down at the house, trying to get a statement out of Applejack or Big Macintosh.”

“Hope Mac is smart and keeps his sister away from the parasites; filly can’t lie worth a tick.”

Splitter didn’t so much chuckle as he let out a sigh without a trace of annoyance. “Ain't that the truth. As for time, I’d say he’d been in the water for at least 8 hours.”

“When did they fish him out?”

“About 8:30.”

“So he went in around midnight.” I looked over Mosely’s right ankle but dismissed the torn flesh there as being the result of Applejack’s lasso. I made my way around, taking a few moments to brush his grime-encrusted mane away from his face before pushing it back. “Fish went after everything, didn’t they?”

“Indeed. That’s why I let his mane cover his eye sockets like that… even I have my limits.”

“Anything pop up to make you think this is anything but an accident.”

“Sorry to make life hard on you but no. If you look at his legs you can tell the muscles were underdeveloped. I don’t mean for an earth pony either… even a healthy unicorn would have more muscle mass than our friend here.”

“A lifetime of sitting on your flank can do that too you.”

Splitter nodded in agreement. “I’ve read about cases like this in Manehattan, where some rich pony ends up crippling themselves trying to go for a jog. The moment Mr. Orange here hit the water he was a goner.”

“30 seconds, Thunderlane!” Grits shouted.

“That means I have another five even if he hustles,” I stated. I tilted my head, eyes narrowing as I got a good look at Mosely’s lips. “Doc, can you pry his mouth open?”

“Sure.” Splitter’s magic latched onto the corpse’s jaw and slowly forced it open with a crack. “What the hay?” he redirected his horn towards the inside of Mosely’s mouth and began to tug. “It’s a chain.”

“No… a necklace.”

Splitter slowly began to reel the jewelry in, not wanting to damage it. “You think he was holding it when he dove in?”

“Looks like it. But why a woman’s necklace?”

“How can you tell?”

“Old girlfriend is into fashion,”  I said. 

Splitter decided not to press me, which showed just how smart he was. “Maybe it was for his wife. Could have snuck into town to get her a gift.”

I dismissed that theory instantly. “No way.” I gestured at the greenish links that formed the necklace. “That’s old copper right there. Can’t see Valencia Orange wearing something that cheap.”

“Well, that’s true. I swear that mare would rather freeze to death then wear clothing that wasn’t designed by some snooty designer.” Splitter gave the necklace another tug and it finally emerged fully from Mosely’s mouth with a wet ‘swuck!’. “Looks like you were right, Thunder.” Splitter held up the necklace for me to see. At the end of the chain was a smooth piece of amber set in a copper frame. “Is it just me or does that look like an apple?”

“Isn’t just you,” I stated, examining the new evidence with a critical eye. “Why does a rich stallion like Mosely Orange have an amber necklace lodged in his throat before he takes his big dive?”

“Don’t ask me, Thunder. My job is the stiff, not the stuff they bring with them.” Splitter brought over an evidence bag and placed the necklace inside before gathering the rest of his tools.

“Don’t suppose you can let me keep that,” I asked.

“Sorry, Thunder. I’m not risking my job for you.” He paused, giving me a sly wink. “But come by my lab tomorrow and it might find its way inside your hat.”

“You’re the best Splitter,” I muttered, extending my wings and leaping into the sky as Grits came huffing and puffing towards me, screaming curses that would make Celestia blush. I didn’t care about his attitude, however; my business was with the Apple Family.

> 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.