Finding Prosperity

by Cherie Mitchell

  “What are you reading?”

  She looked up to see a blonde man she’d noticed at the analytics lecture, gazing down at her. She lifted the book to show him the cover.

  “Little Women.” She glared at him, waiting for the expected smart-ass comment, but it never came.

  He nodded his approval. “I like the classics. Good choice. You can’t go past a decent Louisa May Alcott.”

  Prosperity giggled and closed the book, running her eyes over his muscular shoulders, large hands, and masculine features. “You don’t look like the type to read women’s books.”

  “I don’t care to box myself into any particular type or genre.” He stuck out his hand. “I saw you in the analytics lecture but we haven’t been formally introduced. Blaine Kennedy.”

  “Prosperity Spartanburg.” She returned his handshake, admiring his firm grip and appreciating the added warm squeeze before he gently ended it. She indicated the empty seat beside her, moving her energy drink out of the way to make a space. “Would you like to join me?”

  “Sure.” He eased himself down and she couldn’t help but hear his soft groan as he bent his knees. “Excuse the grumbles and groans. Old injury’s been playing up.”

  She eyed his wide, muscled thighs, imagining him out on the field. A star player, no doubt. Possibly a baseball player? Or maybe a football player? Ooh, maybe he’s a quarterback. “Sports injury?”

  “Line of duty.” He grinned at her, showing very white, very straight teeth. “I’m a volunteer firefighter for the Tisbury Volunteer Brigade.”

  Even better, she thought.

  “Very commendable.” She surveyed him with renewed interest. “What are you studying?”

  “Business Management. I saw the analytics lecture on today’s schedule and thought it might be something I could work into my course. I’m a sucker for data manipulation. What about you?”

  “Forensic Pathology.”

  He raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “That’s a big subject for a little girl.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I thought you were a decent guy up until the second you made that comment.”

  To her surprise, he put his head back and roared with laughter. “Feisty. I like it.”

  “Hmmm. I always think it’s funny how whenever men say what they think they’re considered confident and self-assured but when women do it we’re called feisty.”

  He nodded at her book. “And what does your Miss Alcott call such women?”

  She met his gaze without giving away a glimmer of a smile. “Bitches.”

  His eyes widened. “Well, I gotta go.” He stood up quickly, giving her a close up view of those thighs. “Probably see you around campus.”

  “Yeah, probably. Bye, Blaine.” She snuck a look at his backside as he left before returning to her book. Romance was not something she needed nor was she looking for it, particularly not with a male chauvinist pretending to be a feminist. She had far too much else on her plate for now and besides, everyone knew that guys named Blaine thought far too highly of themselves.

  4

  No Quick Moves

  There’s no such thing as a coincidence, as Prosperity’s mama always used to say, and as a black SUV with a partially obscured rear number plate cut her off as she turned into her block she finally understood the truth of the phrase. She waved her fist at the driver but he ignored her and stared straight ahead through his dark glasses before gunning it up the road. Prosperity kept the car in sight as she followed him, keeping far enough back so as not to be noticed should he look in his rear view. The red and white cloth poking out of the back of the trunk flapped gaily in the breeze. There was something about the cloth that looked familiar, and not just because she’d seen it when the vehicle drove away from the parking lot of Galloping Maids the other afternoon. The SUV turned a corner and she pressed her foot to the accelerator, anxious not to lose sight of it.

  The vehicle now sat on the side of the street and the man who’d paid her for a Premium Clean was rooting around in the trunk. Prosperity pulled her Beetle over to the curb a few yards back and turned off the engine. Her shifty customer lifted a bundle of red and white rags from the trunk and set them down on the sidewalk and she nodded to herself as she finally recognized them. Tie-dyed sheets. A flashback to her childhood when she’d worn clothes lovingly dyed in multiple colors by Serendipity in her big aluminum cook pot. The man slammed the trunk shut and looked quickly around before scooping up the sheets and marching up to the door of the house the vehicle stood parked in front of. He kicked the door open with his foot and disappeared inside as Prosperity hurriedly climbed out of her car to follow him.

  She bent over in a crouch to minimize the chances of anyone noticing her. She hurried across the lawn and sneaked up past the pink geraniums at the side of the house, and from there she tiptoed up to the nearest window. She cautiously raised her head to peek through the grimy pane and was startled to see the man standing near the window. She ducked her head down, her heart pounding against her ribs, and counted backward to calm herself. 3, 2, 1. No quick moves, Pros.

  She waited a few minutes, listening to the sound of the man thumping around inside the house, before slowly lifting her head again. He’d moved away from the window now and he had his back to her as he folded the sheets and stacked them on the table. Prosperity took the chance to look around the room.

  Two sagging brown armchairs dominated the space, along with the wooden table where the man had stacked his sheets. Several cardboard boxes sat haphazardly up against the walls and the TV set in the corner stood balanced on top of an old canned bean carton. A small pile of what looked like hand puppets and marionettes lay strewn across the seat of one of the armchairs. She cocked her head to one side to read the sign that stood on its end against one wall. “Ericson & Naughton, Puppet Shows From the Sixties”. Prosperity frowned, remembering the dubious personality of Mr. Congeniality during their brief encounter. He certainly hadn’t seemed the type of man to put on puppet shows for kids but one never knew. The sixties theme explained the tie-dye sheets but seriously? In this technology-driven, video game era how many kids would be interested in watching bizarre, homemade, vintage puppet shows?

  The man spun around suddenly and Prosperity ducked down again, her pulse racing. She waited another few seconds before peeking back into the room but he was gone. She gazed around, half expecting him to walk up behind her, but it seemed she was safe for now. She heard footsteps and raised her face to the window again, only to see him walk back into the room carrying a beer. He sat down on one of the brown, sagging armchairs and put his feet up on the coffee table. Prosperity snuck down the side of the house to check that the front door was still ajar. The man was relaxed now and unprepared for a surprise attack. She could creep in behind him, use the Amazonian Temple Flick trick that her father—the inimitable Rolling Stone—had taught her to render him unconscious, and then she could call the police. She could of course call the police without doing any of the other stuff, but a part of her insisted that she do this. It would be almost therapeutic to be the one in control of the situation, the person dealing out the cards and laying them down, after feeling so helpless and vulnerable during her prolonged kidnapping ordeal. She’d never had the chance to use the Amazonian Temple Flick trick on the men who’d kidnapped her and it would’ve ended things a lot more quickly if she’d found the right opportunity to do so. On top of that, she felt she owed it to her dear old dad to prove that she’d listened to his lessons and hadn’t just been humoring him. Yes, today was definitely the day to roll out the Amazonian Temple Flick and make her papa proud.

  She slid in through the door, minding where she put her feet to avoid any creaking boards. Working as a maid and cleaner had taught her to be light on her feet, especially when the homeowners were still in the house. People generally expected their houses to be cleaned silently by invisible fairies and they weren’t too keen on seeing or hearing the activities necessary to clean up after
them. The shifty man had switched the TV on and she could hear the low murmur and tinned laughter of a sitcom. She glided through the house on gossamer feet, pausing in the doorway of the living room to double check that no one else was around. The man didn’t notice her as he drank his beer, farted, and laughed at some lame joke on the TV show. She flexed her fingers, preparing them for what she was about to do, then darted forward to apply the Flick at the exact spot that her father had showed her.

  She’d always known that the Amazonian Temple Flick was deadly effective but it was astounding to see it in action. The man gave a gentle sigh, loosened his grip on the beer can, and slowly tipped forward to fall onto the floor. He lay flat on his stomach, stretched out like a lazy dog in the sun, as the remains of his beer spilled out over the carpet. Success! Rolling Stone would be so proud.

  She plunked herself down in the middle of the unconscious man’s back and pulled out her phone, along with Detective Rueben Jackson’s card. She’d made things easy for him. He would probably walk in now, do his charming snake oil salesman spiel, and take all the credit but it didn’t matter too much. At least she herself had the satisfaction of a job well done.

  Rueben wandered over to speak to her as his partner shoved the perpetrator into the back of the unmarked police car, shoving him in amidst a flurry of discarded junk food wrappers and empty Coca-Cola cans. Prosperity had already given her statement and had been about to get in her own car and drive home but she was interested to hear what the detective had to say.

  “First things first,” Rueben said, a harrumph in his voice. “You should have stayed out of this until the professionals arrived. A citizen getting involved in such affairs is never good. But since you did, I’d like to know how you managed to overcome him, Prosperity? You’re slightly built and he’s on the heavier side. It couldn’t have been an even fight.”

  “Something my dad taught me.” She wasn’t prepared to give away too much, and she certainly didn’t want Rueben Jackson telling her that the Flick Trick was illegal or dangerous. She might need to use it again someday and the less people who knew about it the better.

  “Right.” He waited for her to explain further and when she didn’t, he cleared his throat and moved on. “Seems it was a business deal gone wrong. Two partners who had a falling out over a lost contract and one of them decided to get his revenge. People have died for much sillier reasons in the past and they’re sure to die for much sillier reasons in the future. Lucky for us, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and he made the foolish decision to hire a maid to do his cleanup.”

  “Or lucky for you that I was the maid and that I recognized him again,” Prosperity said mildly.

  Rueben gave her a long, hard look. “You shouldn’t have tried to approach him on your own. The police are here for a reason and the public have a responsibility to keep themselves safe.”

  He was doing that hypnotic thing with his voice again. She pretended to look around for an unseen suitcase. “As you can see, I have no bags packed. Do you know why? It’s because I don’t do guilt trips.”

  He ignored her sarcasm and glanced over to where she’d parked her Beetle. “Have you just finished work for the day?”

  “No. I’m no longer working for Galloping Maids. That business is defunct. Done and dusted, quite literally. I’ve gone back to school and I’m studying Forensic Pathology now.” Take that, Mr. Big Shot Detective.

  She wasn’t sure whether she’d impressed him or not. He studied her face for so long that she began to get a little uncomfortable. “You look kind of familiar. I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. I noticed it when we spoke at the Seabreeze. Ever heard of a bar named Tail Spinners?”

  “Uh, yeah. I worked there. Briefly.” She shifted her eyes away from his, unwilling to witness the spark of lechery that she expected to see in their brown depths.

  Rueben hesitated and she thought he was about to walk away when he spoke again. “I’m glad you called me.”

  “Well, you did say to phone you if I had anything new. I figured this was as new as it gets, even if I didn’t phone for help as quickly as you wanted me to.” She went to turn away, glad that the drama was over. Another day, another dollar—another of mama’s favorites.

  “Oh, and Prosperity? There’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?” She needed to get her shoes off. Get her shoes off, drive home, order a pizza, and stand under a shower for at least fifteen blissful minutes.

  He looked past her, as if he didn’t care one way or the other what her answer might be. “I thought we could catch up for a drink sometime.”

  “You thought that, did you?” She wasn’t waiting any longer to take her shoes off. She hooked the toe of one shoe onto the heel of the other and gently eased her foot out.

  “Yeah. Maybe we could chat about the case. Joe’s Bar is good. How about tomorrow night?” His face was still impassive and she was about to tell him no, annoyed by his arrogance, when his partner spoke up.

  “Come on, Ruby. We’ve got another appointment to get to.” The officer tapped his watch impatiently.

  She sparkled her eyes at him as she repeated his nickname. “Ruby?”

  His face flushed dark red and he coughed loudly before turning to follow his partner. “Detective Rueben is fine. Rube if you must.”

  “No, it’s okay. I like Ruby. See you tomorrow night at Joe’s Bar, Ruby.” She bit her lip to hide her laugh as she watched him hunch his shoulders and walk away.

  5

  A Job Offer

  “What’s next for you, Prosperity? You told me yesterday that you’d given up the maid job.”

  “What’s next? Back to the salt mines, I guess,” Prosperity said glumly. She was enjoying her Forensic Pathology course lessons and she was beginning to discover that she had a real knack for the topic. However, the lack of income was starting to pinch. Money makes the world go around, and Prosperity’s current money situation had her world wedged up tightly against a rock on the road. She was glad that Rueben had refused to let her pay for either her meal or her drink, as she would’ve been scratching hard to find enough coin to cover it.

  “I might have an opportunity for you to consider.”

  Prosperity snorted. “Let me guess, Ruby. The police social club is having a function and you need a stripper? No, thanks. My days of having my butt pinched by random strangers are well and truly over.”

  He looked offended. “You’ve read me all wrong.”

  She tipped her head on one side and studied him carefully. “I’m fairly good at reading people. Let me take a stab in the dark and you can tell me how close I am. I’ll start with your name. Men named Rueben are generally transparent, intelligent, and goal-orientated. People like you and me make use of that knowledge. The fact that you don’t like to hear your name abbreviated fits the mold of an everyday Rueben. Oh, and you feel a compulsion to shake off the shackles of respectability and authority whenever the mood strikes. An odd characteristic for a man who has chosen the law for his career, but there you go.”

  His affronted expression turned to one of suspicion, a look she already knew that he did very well. “How do you know this?”

  She tapped the side of her nose. “Ah, the nose knows. Setting the characteristics of your name aside, I would be prepared to hazard a guess that you enjoy the burgers from Fat Ronnie’s a little too much. In fact, you enjoy them so much that you’re beginning to get concerned about the tightening of your waistband.”

  He looked annoyed now. “Okay, this isn’t remotely funny. Where did you get this information? Did my partner Rory tell you?”

  She held his gaze for several beats, prolonging the exquisite tension, before relenting. “You could call it forensics or you could call it putting two and two together to make a fancy bow. I saw the Fat Ronnie wrappers in your car last night and you’re wearing running shoes tonight.”

  She nodded at his feet. “Did you jog over?”

  “Yeah,” he said sheepish
ly. “Have to admit though, those burgers are hard to resist.”

  She wrinkled her nose at the odd play on . “Each to their own. I’m not a big meat eater.” Serendipity and Rolling Stone had attempted to raise their only daughter as a vegan but she’d discovered early on that she was just too fond of steak for that kind of palaver. Fish she could take or leave, but give a girl a big juicy steak…

  “Do you want to hear about the opportunity or not?”

  She’d forgotten about that. “Sure. Lay it on me, Ruby baby.”

  “We might need to readdress that if you take up my offer,” he growled. “I’m not keen on you using that nickname.”

  She smiled sweetly as she pushed her empty plate away. “See? I was right. You’re a typical Rueben.”

  “You’re an intriguing girl, Prosperity Spartanburg. I’m kinda interested in discovering what makes you tick.”

  “I’ll warn you that my workings are closer to those of a cuckoo clock than a fine Swiss watch,” she said archly.

  “Nothing wrong with cuckoo clocks.” He grinned and she found herself returning his smile. She caved in and dropped her guard a little. “Okay, tell me about this opportunity.”

  “You mentioned yesterday that you’re doing a Forensic Pathology course. Is that the one run by Cape Cod Community College?”

  “The one and the same.”

  “It’s a good course. There’s been some outstanding students graduate from the program. Ever heard of Clarice Montigrew?”

  “Nope.”

  “You should look him up sometime. He graduated from the course several years ago and he’s now a well-respected PI. He’s got his own YouTube channel.” Rueben stated this last piece of information as if he thought it was the pinnacle of success.

  “Awesome.” She looked at the door, wondering if it would be rude if she said she had to leave. She’d hoped to get a bit of study in tonight and now that she’d eaten there was no need to hang around.