RARITY INVESTIGATIONS: A Manehattan Mystery Memoir

When I made it into my office the next morning, I lit two scented candles, hoping they would have double the soothing power. Instead, the smell overpowered the room and made me feel sick to my stomach.

I had just come back from a meeting with Cup Cake in the now-closed Sugarcube Corner. She had left her children with a relative in the nearby Fillydelphia, so it was just the two of us. Her makeup was smudged, her mane was tragically flat, and her cheeks were puffy with tears. We sat in the dark and drank pumpkin spice tea, the deceased stallion’s favorite. It was sort of like my normal morning routine, minus Sweetie Belle’s perfect mug.

Cup Cake’s voice was hoarse and quiet, and her speech was occupied with long pauses filled with thought. It didn't take a detective to figure out that she was on the brink of tears, although she was clearly trying to hold them back for my sake, much to my appreciation.

“Did Carrot Cake have any enemies you knew of?” I asked, sipping my tea. Often, pumpkin spice was too artificial for my taste, but this was strangely good. Perhaps it was homemade.

“No,” she replied, staring at her own reflection in the steeping liquid. “He was the sweetest pony I ever knew. A great father, a passionate lover, he was everything you could want in a stallion. He couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried.” This was a common response from the families of lost ones. Instead of writing it down, I simply added another sugarcube to my tea.

The rest of our talk was short, somber, solemn. She had hired me once again, this time to figure out who killed her husband. I vowed to do so, offered my condolences, made a plan to visit the Cakes’ apartment later, and went straight to my office. Sassy greeted me at the door.

“Oh my goodness, Rarity!” she chirped, looking up from the unorganized mess of post-it notes and papers on her desk. “I absolutely adore your ensemble today!” I was wearing a flamboyant crimson leather jacket I had gotten at a thrift store, alongside my typical black suede hat. It wasn’t a particularly interesting combination, but I accepted Sassy’s compliment anyway.

“Anypony request me while I was away?”

“Nope,” Sassy sighed, staring down at a post-it note that looked like her grocery list. Cherries. Pineapples. Apples. Bread. Cherries again, this time crossed out. “Although, to be fair, you were in The Manehattan Times this morning. Ponies know you just witnessed an absolutely dreadful tragedy.”

Shit. I knew Spike was at the scene of the crime last night, but I couldn’t remember what I had said to him. Great. If I had supplied him with the comment he’d been craving, it was over. The beast was fed, and now he’d be coming back for crumbs. Ugh.

“Which, by the way,” Sassy continued, offering me a polite pat on the back, “how are you holding up, dearest?”

“I’m fine.” That was a lie. I had only gotten two hours of sleep, if that, but I wasn’t about to have a therapy session with my secretary this early in the morning.

I stepped into my office and sat down in my chair. It was the same plush chair I regularly adored, but today, it felt less comfortable. I adjusted myself in the seat, pressing my back against the soft cushions, but to no avail. With the sickening stench of double lavender flooding my nostrils, I grabbed my camera and began scanning the photos I had taken the night before. Carrot Cake talking to customers, serving exquisite red velvet cupcakes with perfectly piped frosting, looking at the clock. Not much to take from there, at least, not at first glance.

Another push of a button, and there was the picture of Carrot Cake standing in the doorway of the building where he met his demise. A shiver went down my spine. I closed my eyes, trying to recall that moment, but all I could conjure up was the image of his corpse. Lying on the ground. Motionless. Bloody. Dead. My heart started racing.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Flam. For the first time, I genuinely was grateful for one of his intrusions.

“Come in,” I said, despite knowing he would do so anyway. Right on schedule, Flam entered the room, wearing a neon green sweater depicting an ornately decorated Hearth’s Warming tree and levitating a bottle of white wine. His look was nothing short of a mess, but I suppose that was the norm.

“Good morning, Miss Rarity!” he boomed, his words slightly more slurred than usual. As he made his way over to my desk, he tripped on his own hooves, but caught himself before doing any major damage. Clearly, he was tipsy. “Fancy a drink?”

I rolled my eyes. “Hearth’s Warming Eve isn’t for another five months. Did you forget to do your laundry again?” He shook his head, before letting a quiet belch loose and blinking several times, as if he was trying to prevent himself from drifting to sleep. I was used to his normal drunken antics, but he seemed different today.

“Excuse me,” he said, pounding his chest. “I was out drinking later than usual last night. The Happy Hayburger karaoke scene is quite convivial.” He lazily shook himself out, then took his usual spot atop my desk. “So, have you looked through that bucket of potential cases I gave you yet?”

Too tired to shove him back to the floor, I simply shot Flam a glare. “I’m guessing you haven’t read the latest issue of The Manehattan Times.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Rarity, I’m lucky if I even know what time it is.”

“I’m in the process of investigating a murder.” On a regular day, I would’ve kept this information from him, but in my tired stupor, it just slipped out. His eyes widened with intrigue. Already, I could tell I was going to regret that. “Which means I don’t have time for your drunken shenanigans.”

With a big dumb grin on his face, he hurriedly hopped off my desk and leaned his face in toward mine. His breath smelled like a mix of vodka and mouthwash. “This is perfect!”

“It’s perfect that an innocent stallion got murdered?”

He cleared his throat and stepped back, blushing. “Uh, no. This is the perfect opportunity for me to show you how much of an asset I could be to your team!” I grimaced on impulse, but he kept going. “Come on, let me help you investigate! With me as your assistant, we could crack this thing wide open!”

I shook my head and put my camera bag into its designated bag. “I’m fairly certain I can ‘crack this thing wide open’ without the help of barely-functioning alcoholic, thank you very much.” I got out of my chair and started heading for the door, but Flam blocked my path and pouted his lip. He was the spitting image of a sad puppy, but these elite persuasion techniques were lost on me. “Ugh. Don’t be petty. You have no experience.”

“I’ll learn! Please!”

I was about to levitate him to the side and leave, but I made the mistake of subconsciously closing my eyes. Where there should have been darkness emerged that image once more. Deceased Carrot Cake. Lying on the pavement. Knife in his neck. Surrounded by a pool of red. When my eyes reopened, I found myself on the wooden floor of my office, with sweat beading down my forehead. I didn't remember falling.

Flam’s voice echoed in the space above me. “Whoa, are you okay, Miss Rarity?” He was holding out his hoof to help me up. “You just collapsed all of a sudden!”

“I’m fine.” I knew Flam could tell that was a lie, but I didn't want to admit my struggle to him. I ignored the hoof he was holding out and helped myself back up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to Carrot Cake’s house to find a clue as to who killed him.”

I tried to leave again, but Flam still blocked my path. He had never been this aggravating before. “Not alone, you’re not. Miss Rarity, with all due respect, after watching you faint, I can’t in good conscience let you go out on your own. What if you get hurt?”

“I can take care of myself.”

Flam chuckled, and wrapped one of his front legs around me in a strange half-hug. I tried to wiggle my way out, but his grip was surprisingly strong for somepony so slim. “Of course you can. But wouldn’t it be nice to have somepony else watching your back for once? Helping you sift through evidence? Providing a second perspective?”

I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. As long as Carrot Cake’s dead body was flashing in my mind, I wasn’t capable of performing my best work. Already, I couldn’t remember what happened last night after witnessing the murder. What if I forgot a crucial piece of evidence? The chances were too high. It had become clear that I needed help, and as much as he annoyed me, Flam was the only pony offering. I bit my lip and nodded my head.

“Welcome to the ‘team’,” I moaned through gritted teeth.

Flam’s reaction was similar to that of somepony who just won the lottery. His smile seemed to extend past his cheeks, and he pranced around my office, giggling and almost spilling the melted wax my scented candles had produced. There had never been this much energy and enthusiasm in my office. I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

“Oh, thank you so much, Miss Rarity!” Flam laughed, shaking my hooves. The alcohol in his breath filled my nose. I nearly gagged. “You won’t regret this.”

Too late.

The taxi ride to the Cakes’ apartment had been relatively tame, all things considered. While I sat in my seat, camera bag in between my legs, Flam just quietly looked through the window. I had wholly expected him to talk my ear off about some party he went to or a new drink he had discovered, but instead, he simply watched the street signs pass by. Second Street, Third Street, Fourth Street, Fifth Street. We had gone through nearly all of the Apples’ territory before we finally stopped.

After paying the driver with an array of shiny bits, Flam and I stood in front of the large, three-story brick apartment. Its location was a side street diverging off Fifth known as “Mane Way”, which consisted solely of apartment buildings and bodegas. Cup Cake was busy planning funeral arrangements for her husband, so she gave me her keys and permission to turn her house upside down, so long as I reported what I had found.

Before I went inside, I reviewed the facts in my head. Cup Cake thought Carrot Cake was cheating on her, which hadn’t been proved or disproved yet. All I knew was that Carrot Cake intentionally went into the abandoned building, though he was clearly scared, and the door opened when he knocked, which meant somepony was expecting him.

If he was indeed having an affair, it was possible the pony he was cheating with invited him to the building and ultimately killed him. However, if Cup Cake’s hunch was wrong, and he was going to that building for a different reason, then this could be a deeper case then initially expected.

Regardless, in my mind, the first step to cracking the case was finding a motivation; either a reason somepony would want to kill Carrot Cake, or the reason he went into the abandoned building. Hopefully, searching the apartment would shed some light on either, if not both.

Flam and I entered the building and walked up two flights of dusty stairs in silence. Occasionally, he’d lose his footing and nearly topple down the steps from own drunken state, but for the most part, he seemed more focused and relaxed than usual. He reminded me of Sweetie Belle, in a way. Normally childish, bouncy, and way too easily excitable, but serious when it counted.

“We’re here.”

On the third floor of the complex, there was a hall with three doors on each side, each marked “3” with a letter following them. 3A, 3B, 3C, 3D, 3E. Strangely enough, 3F was skipped, and replaced by 3G, the apartment Carrot Cake had resided in.

The Cakes’ home was, as expected, in a state of disarray. The living room floor was littered with children’s toys and unfinished coloring books, alongside a selection of colored pencils, crayons, and markers which appeared to resemble the entire visible color spectrum. It was like the exact opposite of my neatly organized, greatly cared for desk.

Flam took one step inside, and immediately squashed an abandoned slice of lemon cake with his hoof. “Eugh,” he gagged, sticking his tongue out. Alongside the food on the floor, their rosy pink curtains were billowing from the air of the open windows, indicating Cup Cake had left the house in a rush after hearing what happened to her husband. I don’t recall seeing her children at the crime scene last night, but their “drawings” -- really, just black squiggly lines on white paper -- were wrinkled with hoofprints, suggesting they were left in a hurry, too.

As I began to carefully maneuver my way through the sea of hoof-hurting objects, I scanned the apartment at a surface level. Each doorway was blocked with a baby gate, and the outlets were covered with duct tape. Desks were covered with recipes for pumpkin cakes, cherry cupcakes, lemon tarts, apple bread. Photos hung on the wall of their family. Carrot was grinning from ear to ear in all of them.

“So, what are we lookin’ for, Miss Rarity?” Flam asked me, attempting to sit on the torn up couch, but instead piercing his flank on an Ahuizotl action figure. He winced with pain.

I levitated one of the many family portraits toward me, taking in the admittedly adorable display of affection. The two adult Cakes were kissing, each holding a small, blinking foal too young to know how to smile for the camera. “He was just pursuing the Equestrian Dream. Starting a family, owning a successful business...” I said aloud, though I hadn’t intended to. “Why would anypony want to murder him?”

“The Equestrian Dream is dead,” Flam suddenly blurted out, finally making himself comfortable between a stack of month-old magazines and a foal’s xylophone. “Society has changed since the golden age. Hard work doesn't help you succeed anymore. No, now, you have to resort to unconventional methods to get what you want.” He stole the picture from my aura with his own and brought it close to his face. With a laugh, he tossed it straight into the mess of donkey stuffed animals. “I’m sure Carrot owed somepony money or was smuggling drugs on the side.”

My eyebrows instinctively raised at him. “I was asking rhetorically, but thanks for your input.” I began scanning the room once again, taking note of the smells. Apple pie, baby powder, Juniper Phoenix, day-old pizza. “We need hard evidence, not conjecture.”

Flam sighed and halfheartedly lifted up the couch cushion he was sitting on, as if he were looking for a clue. I began opening and closing every drawer of every desk, sifting through old candy wrappers, mildew stained clothes, more recipes, and a couple of bank statements. Notably, there was a drawer of just three or four credit cards, presumably maxed out. I kept looking.

“Found something!” Flam called out, which I highly doubted, considering how he hadn’t lifted himself off the couch. I decided to entertain him by checking out his “discovery”, which ended up being a bottle of Juniper Phoenix that his tail had been covering. Unbeknownst to him, I had already taken note of the cologne from the room’s smell, but I praised him for his contribution anyway. The resulting smile was smug, as if he were a foal in school who knew the answer to a question before anypony else. “What does this mean, Miss Rarity?”

“Juniper Phoenix is a specialty brand, typically used for night outings,” I responded, tapping into my mental catalogue of perfumes and colognes, which was unfortunately used less than I would’ve liked. “Cup Cake said Carrot was going out late and coming back early, so it’s not far-fetched to assume he put this on before his excursions, whatever they were.” I closed my eyes again, this time on purpose, hoping to review the crime scene. While the image had toned down in vividness, I still could picture Carrot’s body melting onto the pavement. It was all I needed. “Although, I don’t recall smelling cologne on him last night. Perhaps his most recent outing was of a different nature.”

“Let’s keep looking.”

Flam began looking under the couch, which I’m sure was to be the pinnacle of his work thus far, while I started searching the bookshelves. Most of the books were for foals: “Daring Do Takes A Bath,” “Dragons, Dragons, Dragons,” and “Equestrian History for Babies,” to name a few. However, there was one thick, light blue book with no text on its spine. Curious, I opened it and was met with a beige piece of paper containing only the word “Carrot” scrawled in orange ink. Flipping to the next page, there were several pictures of Carrot haphazardly glued to flimsy pages. Clearly, this was a photo album.

Jackpot.

While a majority of the pictures were more daft, cutesy family portraits, there were a couple that featured other ponies. Him smiling and eating chocolate cupcakes with a yellow earth pony stallion. Him and a group of unicorns and pegasi at a Buckball game, faces smeared with makeup, a picture which notably didn't include Carrot himself. There was also a photo of him shaking a magenta hoof, but other pony was cut off.

The word “Friends” was calligraphed in blue ink on the bottom of the page. His hoofwriting was impeccable, each curve a delicate line of grace and intent. I could see why he decorated pastries for a living. The perfectionist in me was getting jealous.

I looked over to Flam to share my findings, but he had vacated the couch and was nowhere to be seen, much to my alarm. “Flam?!” Was he behind the couch? No. In the kitchen? Nope. The bathroom? Of course not. “Flam?!” I could feel the sweat sliding down my forehead. Where did he go?!

“Rarity, come here!”

His voice. What a relief. I followed the sound into the Cakes’ bedroom, an almost exact mirror image of the living room, only with a torn up bed instead of a beaten couch. There he was, sitting on the floor with that same smug smile, levitating a folder.

Angrily, I picked up a stuffed octopus from the floor at tossed it at his face. “Flam, you scared me half to death!” He barely flinched. “If you want to be my assistant, you can’t just disappear without telling me! We’re supposed to be a--” Realizing what I was about to say, I simply shut my mouth, and took in a deep breath through my nostrils. Phew. “Nevermind. What did you find?”

Flam opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper. “‘Dear Sweetcakes,’” he read aloud, squinting at the cursive letters. “‘You looked absolutely stunning last night. Can’t believe it’s almost been two months. Whenever we’re apart, it’s like hell on earth. Hopefully, we can meet up again soon. I’d love to treat you to a nice meal at The Tasty Treat, or a crappy meal at The Happy Hayburger. Whichever you prefer. Can’t wait for your next letter. Love you.’” Flam handed me the letter. It was dated about a week ago, and was signed only with a simple sketch of a pegasus wing. Intriguing.

“There’s about thirty more letters in this folder, all in the same vein,” Flam continued, scanning through the others. “From the looks of it, he really was having an affair.”

“Huh.” Cup Cake’s hunch was right, which didn't surprise me. If anything, I was a little disappointed that somepony who seemed as modest and innocent as Carrot would do something like this. Why cheat when you have such a loving family? Romance never made any sense to me. Perhaps Fluttershy could help me understand, if I ever talked to her again.

Using my magic, I took all the letters and laid them on the bed in an array of neatly organized rows and columns, then skimmed them for information. Each had the exact same signature, with no name and a drawing of a wing, and a request to meet up at a restaurant, bar, or sporting event of some sort. The earliest letter was dated for about a month ago, and, after putting them in order, I noticed there was one for every day since. Except one.

“No letter for yesterday,” I observed, taking photos of the unique signature. “The day he died. Uh, where did you find these?”

Flam cleared his throat and scratched his mustache. “The folder was taped to the bottom of the bed frame, Miss Rarity. Really good spot to hide stuff from your wife.” I raised an eyebrow at him, signaling a need for explanation. “Look, I’ll admit it. I needed a place to sleep off my drunkenness, but I accidentally I rolled off the bed and saw the folder. Turns out it was fruitful.” He looked at me, as if he were waiting for validation, which I didn't offer. “I guess this means he went out to meet his lover last night, and she killed him.”

I shook my head. “There’s no motivation in that. Besides, unless there’s a letter from last night, we have no way of knowing what his plans were.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a paper shredder in the corner of the room, and checked inside the basket. Sure enough, there were scraps of the same color and style of paper as the letters. I sighed. “Hmm. It appears the most recent letter contained something he didn't want anypony to know.”

Flam yawned. “Maybe it was a threat from the mistress. Maybe he was going to meet her at that creepy building last night to fill her demands or something.”

“No, we can’t assume that the pony he was having an affair with is the same one who murdered him,” I pointed out. “While it’s a possibility, there are a number of other reasons he could’ve gone to Tenth Street. After all, he didn't have Juniper Phoenix on, so perhaps he wasn't planning to meet a date. Our evidence is simply too circumstantial right now.” While I was talking, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the wing drawing. It was not as perfect as Carrot’s calligraphy, but it was a visually pleasing use of blue ink nevertheless. “Although, we should figure out who this secret lover is. Even if they’re not the murderer, they could have valuable information. The wing suggests they’re a pegasus, but that could also be their cutie mark.”

I thought back to the pictures in the photo album. There were none of him alone with a pegasus, which would make sense, because he wouldn’t want to put his affair in a family picture book. However, there was that one shot of him shaking a magenta hoof. Could that be her?

“We need more information about Carrot Cake,” I concluded. Lighting the room with the light blue glow of my horn, I neatly placed the letters back into the folder in order. “Who he truly was, how he spent his time, and more importantly, who he spent it with. Perhaps one of his friends has seen his mistress before, or knows a reason why somepony would want to kill him.”

Flam nodded his head and laid down on the bed, as if he were about to fall asleep. “Okay, but that requires finding out who his friends were and interrogating them.”

I quickly grabbed my camera and began looking through the pictures I had taken yesterday. Most of them were of Carrot Cake by himself in Sugarcube Corner, but there was one of him talking to a stallion with a gold tooth. I looked at that one, then at the photo of Carrot eating cupcakes with an earth pony from the album. They were the same pony.

I tipped my hat at Flam and started out the door. “I think I may have found one.”