Prosperity gave her name and showed her license to one of the police officers as the paramedics rolled the blanket-covered body out on a gurney. The officer, a boy who looked as if he’d barely sworn the oath, nodded and stepped back as a man wearing a suit and an aura of authority approached. “You’re the girl who made the call?”
Prosperity nodded as she took in the man’s neat and tidy appearance and unhurried manner. He was good-looking in that all-American way, with quarterback shoulders, a rugged jaw, and neatly trimmed dark hair. His nose spoke of a branch of Italian or Latin on the family tree but his face could easily handle its strong prominence amidst his other well-etched features.
“Yeah. I’m Prosperity Spartanburg from Galloping Maids. I was hired to clean the unit.”
“By whom?” He glanced over to the reception to where the chain-smoking Mama Bear was still cussing out the teenager.
“Not her. The motel didn’t book me. A man walked into our company office an hour ago and paid cash for a Premium Clean. He gave me this address and the room key.” Prosperity realized she still had the key. She pulled it out of her pocket and dropped it into the cop’s hand. “There you go.”
He stared down at the key on his palm as if it were a particularly nasty bug before motioning to the young officer. “Officer Ryley. Bag this. It’ll need to be tested for prints.”
The young man hastily pulled out a plastic bag and opened the top for the detective to drop the key inside.
“It’ll be covered in my prints, not his,” Prosperity protested. She was about to mention the rolls of cash and offer them up as evidence instead but she decided to keep her mouth shut. She was going to need that money over the coming weeks.
“How about we leave it to the experts?” he asked drily. “What happened after you walked into the room?”
“Nothing much. I looked around and saw that the room was trashed. I left my cleaning products on the table and walked over to the bathroom. I figured that would be the messiest place and I wanted to get the worse of it over with first.” She wrinkled her nose. “Most people have no respect for the bathrooms that they don’t have to clean themselves. Fact of human nature. I reckon it goes back to the days when we all pooped in the woods. I have some stories that would make your hair curl.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. What happened when you got to the bathroom?” She noticed he kept expertly steering the conversation back toward what he wanted to hear without allowing for any detours or U-turns. Nice.
“The light was already on and the door was cracked. I looked inside and that’s when I saw him.” Prosperity grimaced at the memory. The standard motel issue white and blue striped towels lay heaped against the wall, the mildewed floral shower curtain was half-torn from the hoops, and a roll of toilet paper lay crushed beside the commode, as if trodden on by a heavy shoe or boot. However, the centerpiece in the small room was without a doubt the body of the fully clothed man wearing a Beatles t-shirt and flared jeans that lay sprawled half in and half out of the bathtub. The coppery smell was stronger in here and Prosperity caught sight of a startling amount of red tinged bath water beneath the body before she fled.
“What did you do then? Did you go in?” He was making notes now on his phone. Either that or he was sending text.
“No. I wasn’t staying around any longer to hang out with a dead body. I ran out of the room and went straight down to reception to call the cops. To call you guys.” She looked over to where young Officer Ryley was now chatting up the teenager. Thankfully, Mama Bear had disappeared for now and she’d taken her loud mouth with her.
“How did you know he was dead if you didn’t touch him?”
“I knew he was dead because I’ve seen dead bodies before.” She resisted the urge to add duh to the end of her comment.
His slightly patronizing expression instantly grew alert and suspicious. “You have? Where?”
“I stumbled across a dead maid when I used to work for Martha’s Maids. Up at the Boonesborough Airbnb.”
“I remember that case,” he said, without looking up from his phone.
“Aside from all of those unexpected little encounters,” she continued, “I’m getting my degree in Funeral Services—at least I was ... Embalming is part of our course work. To be honest, I’ve probably seen more dead bodies than you’ve had hot dinners.”
“That’s… troubling.” This guy had one of those reassuring voices that reminded her of her doctor or her dentist, the voice of a man who knew that keeping his subject calm was the biggest part of the puzzle. Someone familiar with manipulating others for a successful end result with the bare minimum of fuss. She guessed he was the type of person who would’ve probably opted into the role of a traveling hypnotist for school fundraisers if his parents hadn’t insisted he finished college. Or maybe a snake oil salesman.
She shuffled her feet, restless to be gone. “Look, how long do you plan on keeping me here? I gave you a description of the guy who paid me to clean up and I swear I don’t know anything else other than what I’ve told you already.”
He took his time in giving her an answer but he finally sighed and nodded. He passed her a business card and she noticed his nails were cut very short. To prevent him chewing them, perhaps? She wasn’t just good at reading faces; she was also reasonably smart when it came to noticing people’s little quirks. “You can go. Call me if you remember anything else. Ask for Detective Rueben Jackson. I have all your details here and you’ve given Officer Ryley your statement. Just don’t go leaving the country.”
She’d given him a ha-ha, very funny look before leaving to collect her car, one hundred percent certain that her cleaning days were now behind her. Hell, she’d even be willing to return to serving behind the bar at Tail Spinners rather than ever pull on another pair of rubber gloves and clean up someone else’s filthy mess—oh, that and discover yet another dead body.
“Miss Spartanburg?” Mrs. Baxter raised an imperious hand and beckoned her over. “I’ve just spoken to the Dean. It’s a definite no. There is no space for another student, not even a returning student, on the Funeral Services course.”
She turned back to her computer as if the matter was closed and there was nothing more to say.
“Wait … that’s it? What I am supposed to do now?” Prosperity demanded. “I’ve already earned half my credits. Are you telling me that all my hard work has gone to waste? Let’s not even start on the amount of money I’ve already thrown at this.”
This was too much. All those long hours spent studying at nights and weekends had turned into a big pile of nothing. How much bad luck did one girl have to deal with?
“I’m not telling you anything other than what I see here.” The woman, Mrs. Baxter if her crookedly pinned name badge was actually hers and not a co-worker’s, lifted her spectacles and squinted at her computer screen. “But it seems there is one solution.”
“Good. See, I knew there would be a way around this. When do I start?”
“Tuesday.” Mrs. Baxter selected a pamphlet from a box beside her and slapped it down on the counter with an air of finality. “You can transfer the credits you’ve already gained from your Funeral Services course across to the Forensic Pathology Program. One spot has just become available due to, uh, a death.”
“Are you kidding me? You can’t just sit there and tell me that I have to change my entire degree. Where’s my chance to do my own due diligence, to consider my options, to decide if this is the right career path for me?”
Prosperity could hear the rising hysteria in her voice but she was past caring. This was outrageous!
“Take it or leave it,” Mrs. Baxter said blandly, and Prosperity could’ve sworn she was working hard to hide a yawn behind those thin, gray lips. “Forensics or nothing.”
Prosperity drummed her fingers on the counter as she spun her limited options through her head. She knew that if she wanted to get anywhere in life she needed a degree and really, how much different coul
d Forensic Pathology be from Funeral Services? They both dealt in the business of dead people, right?
“Fine. I’ll take it.”
Mrs. Baxter nodded with evident satisfaction. She pulled a silvery roll of tape from her desk drawer, a roll of tape that looked far too much like duct tape for Prosperity’s liking. She suppressed a shiver; she never could stand the sight, touch, or feel of duct tape since that whole unpleasant kidnapping business. Duct tape and red bandannas. Mrs. Baxter, unaware of Prosperity’s discomfort, snipped off a piece of tape with a pair of sharp scissors and attached the schedule page to the information pamphlet with infuriatingly slow care.
“Thanks.” Prosperity snatched up the pamphlet and the class program, anxious to be gone. “Thanks for your help.”
She’d almost reached the door when Mrs. Baxter spoke up again. “See you next Tuesday.”
Prosperity stopped right where she stood, her hand frozen on the door handle. Wait … what was that? She must have misheard the old dragon. She glanced over her shoulder but Mrs. Baxter’s back was to her and she was diligently tapping away at her keyboard as if nothing was out of order in her otherwise monotonous day. Prosperity poked her tongue out at the woman’s broad back and stepped out into the heat of the day.
3
Serendipity And Rolling Stone
Prosperity parked her bug in the overcrowded campus lot—thank the gods someone was just leaving—and reached across the seat for her backpack. First day back at school and it felt good. “Knowledge is power,” as her mama used to say. Prosperity paused, taking a few minutes to think of her mother.
Prosperity’s mama, Serendipity Spartanburg, was one of those strong, determined women who firmly believed that there was always a light at the end of the tunnel as long as you walked down it far enough. She had an answer for everything and a phrase for every occasion and she never tired of using them. Serendipity and Rolling Stone, Prosperity’s father, were two hippies born into the wrong generation. Her dad’s name wasn’t really Rolling Stone, it was simply Stone but he had it legally changed after the Temptations released their hit single in 1972.
Plant them knee-deep in the sixties and they would’ve been just two more long haired, long bearded, half-naked, half-stoned, tie-dyed, face-painted, swinging little Woodstocks but those very same quirks made them stand out like sore thumbs in the late nineties and early two-thousands.
Serendipity was a good mother, a kind and thoughtful woman who wanted nothing but the best for her only daughter. Just as long as the best was all natural, unbleached, and preservative and paraben free. Serendipity was a free spirit, a child of nature, and Prosperity hadn’t realized that most people found her a little kooky until she started at Eagle Heights School and discovered that none of the other kids had a mother like Serendipity.
However, Prosperity had adored her slightly kooky, far-out, free-loving hippy parents. She liked living in a blue house on a rambling, overgrown property with free-range sunflowers in the garden and an old VW Kombi van with purple daisies painted on it in the yard. That old VW Kombi van was exactly what had inspired her to buy her own beloved VW Beetle. Mother and child vehicles, in the best hippy way possible.
Stone was one of those rare men who were so laid back in his approach to life that he was practically horizontal. In Stone’s world, everything was cool, groovy, and peace out, man. He liked to take the time to smell the flowers and to watch them grow. He even liked to grow his own. He was good at some interesting dad stuff too and he had taught Prosperity some useful little tricks such as the Amazonian Temple Flick, which could render a man unconsciousness in seconds, and how to light a fire using only two sticks and a single hair plucked from your head.
Serendipity was also very smart, but not what most would call book smart. She communed with nature and the universe and she believed in free love and free will. She was a talented student of name psychology, the practice of deducing a person’s characteristics and traits from their name alone. She’d taught her daughter all that she knew about this little understood art. Prosperity had a few nagging doubts about the practice, especially as people with her own name were supposed to attract great wealth and abundance with relative ease—not something she was exactly good at. But she continued to use it as a way of respecting her mother’s legacy and as a reminder of the many tender moments they’d shared.
Prosperity exhaled, a long drawn out breath laden with unshed tears and unspoken regrets. Sometimes it felt as if there were still so many things she wanted to say to her mother but she’d lost her chance. Serendipity and Rolling Stone had passed peacefully away the year before Prosperity moved out to Martha’s Vineyard, the tragic result of smoking a batch of tainted marijuana. Those people who say no one ever died from smoking weed were wrong.
She shook her head quickly to clear it of the encroaching dark and dismal thoughts. Onwards and upwards, Prosperity! Today is a bright new beginning! Forward not back! She hooked the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and scrambled out of the car.
She found her class and took a seat, running her eye over her classmates as she sat her notebook and pencil on the desk in front of her. There was no one here that she recognized but she hadn’t expected to. She had to assume that it wasn’t a common switch to go from Funeral Services to Forensic Pathology midway through the course.
“Hi!” A sweet-faced girl with wavy blonde hair, a freckled nose, and a mouth retainer sat down beside her. “I’m Megan Meghasson. You must be the new girl.”
“Hi. Yes, I’m Prosperity Spartanburg. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re lucky you got into this class. It’s very popular.” Megan grimaced. “Greg wasn’t so lucky. Did you hear what happened to him?”
“No… but Mrs. Baxter did mention something about a death.” Prosperity was about to say that it probably wasn’t any of her business but Megan seemed more than ready to spill all that she knew.
“It was awful. He was murdered.” Megan pushed her mouth into an O and made her eyes go round and huge. “Killed in a bathtub over at the Seabreeze Motel.”
Prosperity felt a cold shiver run up her spine. “Wait. What? When was this?”
“Last week. They haven’t caught the killer yet.” She did that big eye thing again and lowered her voice. “There’s a murderer running around on the loose. He’s quite possibly hiding in plain sight. He could even be someone we know!”
Prosperity wasn’t quite sure how Megan had made this jump in logic or how she felt about this piece of information. The image of the dead man drifted across her mind once again. It was odd to think that his death had landed her a spot in this class and that she was only here because of him. Her mother’s voice rapped at the edge of her brain. There’s no such thing as a coincidence, Prosperity. She half wondered if she was a little crazy, hearing her mother’s voice in her head so often. She brushed the thought aside and focused.
“I was reading about it this morning,” Megan prattled on. “Apparently, a maid found the body. The killer sent her to do his clean up. Can you imagine?”
“I can imagine,” Prosperity said.
Megan gave an exaggerated little shiver that Prosperity could picture her doing in order to make boys feel protective around her. She suspected that Megan wasn’t quite as naïve as she was making herself out to be. “It’s a little too close to home for comfort. Anyway, I’ll see you later. Welcome to the class.”
“Thanks.” Prosperity watched Megan scamper away to her seat on the other side of the class. She sighed and flipped over a page in her notebook, still feeling uneasy about what the girl had just said. She’d hoped that Detective Jackson and his team had apprehended the killer by now, but perhaps they weren’t as on the ball as he’d made them out to be. Snake oil salesman.
The professor arrived in the room to lead the class and Prosperity put all thoughts of the Seabreeze and Detective Jackson out of her mind for now. She was here to learn and she was determined to complete this course. It was finally time
for Prosperity Spartanburg to finish something she started.
“Hey, Prosperity.” Megan bounced up beside her as Prosperity left the lecture hall at lunchtime, her backpack swinging against her shoulder and her head crammed full of new forensic knowledge. “I’d offer to sit with you on your first day but I’m meeting my boyfriend for lunch. Have you enjoyed your morning?”
“It’s been interesting.”
She’d enjoyed the last lecture, a dissertation on the value of data analytics, more than she thought she would. It seemed there was a lot more to Forensic Pathology than first met the eye and she had the distinct impression that she was going to find a lot to like about this program.
“Okay. Cool! Catch you later, Prosperity!”
Megan bounced away again, a little ball of energy and cuteness that Prosperity thought might start to become irritating if she spent too much time in her company. Prosperity generally preferred the company of men rather than women, providing that the men weren’t trying to grab her butt, seduce her, or kidnap her. She put it down to being an only child; perhaps if she’d had a sister she might have learned how to like women a little more. Or then again, it might be because Serendipity’s cuteness and sweetness had been so genuine that she’d raised the bar high for her daughter and Prosperity now expected a lot from her female friendships.
“Yeah, you too, Megan,” she called as Megan waved over her shoulder.
She walked across the campus to find herself a spot on a bench seat in the shade of a few spindly olive trees. She cracked open a Rockstar and unwrapped the cling wrap from around the ham sandwich she’d grabbed from the convenience store on the way to school this morning. She was used to budgeting and it was amazing how far a dollar could stretch if you just put your mind to it. She bit into the sandwich and pulled out her book, happy to settle into a few minutes of quiet reading before her next class began.
Finding Prosperity Page 2
