Maretropolis

An hour later, Spike and Applejack arrived at the Maretropolis Lodge and Spa. The front of the building was like a Haeienda, but with large pillars on either side of the main entrance.

Applejack slowed and pulled in at the curb. She put the transmission in Park, then turned the key, shutting the engine down, and exited the vehicle. Then she followed Spike to the entrance. Through the tall, wooden doors.

Once inside, they peered through a beaded curtain and entered a chamber full of water pumps, with a tile floor and latticed walls. The scent of incense wafted through the air as they approached the candle-lit counter.

A pale, young man of about twenty named Sandalwood stood behind it in meditation, chanting with his arms outstretched, forefingers and thumbs pressed together. He had long, grayish-green dreadlocks, and he wore a red T-shirt and faded blue jeans.

“Oooooooohmmmmm!” he chanted.

Applejack cleared her throat and said, “Hello?”

The boy continued chanting.

“Hello!”

Shaken out of his meditation, the chanter parted his dreadlocks.

“Hmm?”

“Howdy. My name is--” Applejack began.

“Oh, I’m going to stop you there,” the boy, Sandalwood, cut her off, “because we’re good on Filly Scout Cookies.”

Spike coughed to cover up a chuckle, but it still came out... as a snort.

“I am definitely going to remember that one from now on,” he said.

“Uh... no. I’m Officer Smith, MPD,” Applejack went on. “I’m looking for Stratus Shy, a gentleman who may have frequented this establishment.”

Applejack produced the Shy Family photo and Sandalwood looked at it. He gasped and his eyes widened.

“Yeah, Fluttershy’s dad! I know him, sure,” he said with a chuckle as he handed back the picture. “But I haven’t seen him around for almost two weeks. You should talk to their yoga instructor! I’d be happy to take you back.”

Sandalwood came around from behind the counter and led them toward a different area of the club.

As she saw dozens of women walk by wearing nothing but towels, Applejack couldn’t help but ask, “Uh, what kind of club is this, exactly?”

“Oh, this is a nudist club,” Sandalwood replied nonchalantly.

Applejack’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“A nudist club?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Spike whispered to Applejack with a grin. “In Maretropolis, anyone can be anything. These guys, they be naked.”

“Tree Hugger’s just on the other side of the pool,” Sandalwood said as he opened the doors to the courtyard after typing the combination into the keypad.

Applejack gaped at the sight before her. Many naked men and women were frolicking in the pool while others were weaving baskets, sunning themselves, and lounging around.

Spike leaned over to her.

“Does any and/or all of this make you uncomfortable?” he asked her. “Because if it does, there is no shame in wanting to call it quits. We could end our deal right now.”

“Nnnope,” she replied. “They’re as naked as the day they were born.”

“Wow, that was unexpected,” Spike said to himself.

Applejack acted perfectly normal as they walked through the recreation area. She glanced over at a very beautiful, voluptuous woman with long brown hair and blue eyes, who had the whole hourglass thing going. Big time. Open the encyclopedia to M for MILF and her picture would be staring right back at you.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sandalwood said as they passed by a game of naked volleyball. “Most people think the nudist lifestyle is weird. But you know what we think is weird? Clothes! I mean, we all came into the world naked. The only reason I wear mine at the front desk is so I don’t scare off the delivery guys.”

As they walked, Sandalwood explained the interview process for potential club members. The owners and staff liked to ask perspective members a few questions to get to know them better. Questions like, “Are you sure you want to become a member?” and “Why?”

He also said that it was necessary for the owners to conduct a certain amount of background checking before they could accept anyone. They were very selective about who they submitted for membership.

As well as naked volleyball, there was naked shuffleboard, naked yoga, and many other activities. Spike was ogling a pair of young human masseuses, both a little over 20-years-old and both naked, giving a hybrid gentleman a full body massage, while Applejack’s gaze shifted to the pool. As she looked at the pool, she couldn’t help but find it inviting.

She imagined stepping into the cool water, feeling it run over her body. Then hanging onto the edge of the pool, smiling contentedly, lost in a world all her own. But just as she began to dream, she was shaken out of her thoughts by the giggling of young women.

She turned her head and saw a gardener (who was also naked) watering the plants and he sprayed some of the women with the hose. They didn’t mind. In fact, they enjoyed it.

And there weren’t just grown men and women in the outdoor haven, but also families with teenagers and even young children, all having a good time, completely uninhibited by their surroundings.

“Here we go,” said Sandalwood.

Tree Hugger wasn’t teaching yoga that day. Instead, she was posing as a group of people drew her as part of an art class.

She was tall, well endowed, and her pubic bush, like her red dreadlocks, was very unruly. And she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about standing naked in front of the group.

“Hey, Tree Hugger!” Sandalwood said. “These guys have some questions about Stratus Shy.”

“Who?” the bare hippie asked.

“Uh... Fluttershy’s dad?” Sandalwood prompted. “Her whole family’s been coming to your yoga class for, like, six years now?”

“I meet a lot of different people,” Tree Hugger said. “Each one of them perfect and unique. And I have no memory of this florist.”

“He’s a retired factory worker, actually,” Applejack corrected her.

“He and Fluttershy were here a couple of Wednesdays ago, remember?” Sandalwood asked her.

The naked hipster shook her head and said, “No.”

“Yeah, she was wearing a virgin white tank top with a frilly green miniskirt and matching shoes,” Sandalwood continued. “And he was wearing a blue cable-knit sweater vest with a brand-new pair of black corduroy slacks, and a pale green tie, sweet Windsor knot. Real tight. Remember that, Tree Hugger?”

“No,” Tree Hugger said again.

“Yeah, we walked them out ourselves. I escorted Fluttershy home while her dad got into this big old white car with a silver trim. The engine needed a tune-up. The third cylinder wasn’t firing. Do you really not remember any of that?” he asked Tree Hugger.

“You are really harshing my mellow,” she told Sandalwood. “If I tell you I don’t remember, I don’t remember.”

Applejack couldn’t believe her luck. Tree Hugger may not have been helpful, but Sandalwood was a gold mine of information.

She scrambled to write everything down.

“Uh, this white car,” Applejack interrupted, “you didn’t happen to catch the license plate number, did you?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sandalwood exclaimed. “It was 2-9-T-H-D-0-3.”

“Wow. This is a lot of great info,” Applejack said. “Thank you.”

“See? I told you Tree Hugger’s got a mind like a steel trap,” Sandalwood replied with a smile. “I wish I had that kind of memory.”

Applejack thanked Sandalwood again after he escorted her and Spike back to the entrance hall. Eager to leave the nudist colony, Applejack walked to the door and headed for her cart. Spike leaned against the counter while Applejack kept on going. He waited until she reached to open the door and he turned to Sandalwood, who had returned to his original post behind the counter.

“So, that’ll be one membership renewal, Spike?” Sandalwood asked.

“Actually,” Spike corrected him, “one renewal and one new membership. For her,” he said, pointing through the front door.

“Ooooohhh!” Sandalwood smiled.

Sandalwood typed a few commands into the computer and the memberships (old and new) were both taken care of.

“Thanks,” Spike said as he handed Sandalwood some cash before heading for the exit.

Spike walked out the door and caught up with Applejack.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I had an absolute ball,” he said. “You are more than welcome for the clue. And seeing as how any moron can run a plate, I shall take that recording and bid you a civil adieu.”

“The plate,” Applejack groaned. “I can’t run a plate; I’m not in the system yet.”

“Give me the pen, please,” Spike growled.

“What did you just say? ‘Any moron can run a plate’? Gee, if only there were a moron around who could do it,”

“Blondie, I did what you asked. You can’t keep me on the hook forever,”

“Not forever. I only have another 36 hours to solve this case. So, can you run the plate or not?”

Spike glared at Applejack, but then slowly grinned.

“You know what you just made me remember? I actually have a friend who works down at the DMV,”