Finding Prosperity

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Prosperity, I’ve been tossing an idea around for some time now. Biding my time and waiting for the right moment, the right people. I know a lot about the business of crime and I have plenty of experience in the field. You don’t get to the rank of detective without keeping your nose to the grindstone and working hard.”

  “Sure.” She wondered why he was telling her this. Did he want some praise? Why should she praise him when she’d been the one who had done all his dirty work for him yesterday? All he’d needed to do was turn up and accept the glory.

  “I think I might’ve found my right person.”

  His right person? She stared at him, incredulous that he’d made such a decision so quickly. Heck, he barely knew her! And as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have time for a romantic liaison with a man who thought she was his soulmate. What was wrong with these men? “Um, I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship? Prosperity, I’m offering you a job.”

  “What?” Her brain was struggling to catch up now, wondering how he’d made the leap from talking about finding the right person to offering her a job. What had she missed?

  He settled his features into an expression of rigid patience, an action no doubt garnered from keeping his nose to that grindstone. “If you’ll let me finish explaining myself it might be a little clearer. As I said, I’ve been tossing an idea around. I believe there’s a need, a very real need, for a permanent Forensic Pathology arm of the Martha’s Vineyard PD. Would you be interested?”

  She blinked rapidly to allow her thoughts a few more seconds to catch up. “You want me to join the police force?” she stammered. “But you don’t know anything about me!”

  “I’m not exactly asking you to join the police force. I’m asking you to come on board as our resident Forensic Pathology expert. It’s a sub-department.” His lips twitched as he pulled out his phone. “And as to whether or not I know anything about you, tell me if any of this sounds familiar.”

  He began to read from the screen. “Full name Prosperity Moonbeam Spartanburg. Born to Serendipity and Rolling Stone Spartanburg during a home water birth in Arcata, California, a well-known hippy community. Attended Eagle Heights School and at age nine won several events, blah, blah, blah. Finished high school and took up a few dead end jobs before relocating to Martha’s Vineyard where you’ve worked for Tail Spinners, Martha’s Maids, and Galloping Maids. Began the Funeral Service program at Cape Cod Community Program but left half way through for reasons unknown. Involved in a police incident last year with the highly unsavory and unethical Santee “Country” Cooper. Enjoyed a short romance with T.J. Gallop but currently single.”

  Prosperity swallowed hard. It was disconcerting to think that Rueben Jackson knew so much about her, especially when he’d complained about the few things his name revealed about him! “Err, is there anything else?”

  He switched this phone screen off and set it down on the table beside him. “Nope. That’s all I got for now. So, what do you say? About the job offer? There’s room to grow and the chance to really make the role your own. We’re hoping to free up some more money from the budget a bit further down the track to allow you to build your own team.”

  “But where did you get all that information from? You were asking me questions as if you didn’t already know all that stuff.” It was slightly terrifying that a near stranger had all that personal data at his fingertips.

  “I’m a detective, Prosperity. It’s my job.” He was using his hypnotist voice again.

  She stared at him, attempting to read what was going on behind his eyes but he kept his expression blank.

  “Do we have a yes or do we have a no?” Rueben checked the time on his phone. “I’ve got somewhere else I have to be after this. Not that I’m hurrying you, of course.” He pushed his lips up into the semblance of a charming smile. Snake oil salesman.

  “Give me a minute. I need to think about it.” She got up out of her chair without waiting for his response and walked over to lean against the bar. She could feel his eyes on her but she didn’t look in his direction. Was this what she wanted? She’d just been moaning to herself about her lack of income and the detective’s offer guaranteed a regular paycheck. Probably a sizable one. She could continue with her coursework while learning on the job. It sounded perfect, the ideal answer to the financial questions she’d struggled with since leaving Galloping Maids. Yes, but it’s not so perfect is it, Prosperity? What if he finds out about the secret you’ve been hiding? It probably isn’t the kind of secret that a respected member of the PD could get away with not disclosing. Another voice inside her head piped up and insisted on arguing back. If he doesn’t know about it after digging up all that information on you, how will he ever know? You have to take this offer, Prosperity. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as your mama always used to say.

  “Hey.” A skinny guy with an earring and a baseball cap slammed his hand down on the bar beside her. “Can I get you a drink, pretty lady?”

  “No. Thanks. I’m with someone.” Prosperity walked quickly away from the bar and back to where Rueben waited. Waiting for his answer. He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

  She held one hand behind her back and crossed her fingers for luck. “Sure! I’d love to accept the offer.”

  “Great! Welcome to the region’s best crime fighting unit, Miss Spartanburg. I’ll be in touch over the next few days and make a time for you to come in and meet the team.” He stood up and shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Gotta run.”

  She allowed her eyes to drop down to his running shoes. “Probably best if you don’t swing past Fat Ronnie’s on your way home tonight.”

  “Ha,” he said weakly. “Good night, Prosperity.”

  Prosperity said goodbye and followed him out the door, feeling smugly upbeat. Something told her that her life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

  Afterword

  Who is Prosperity Spartanburg? Many of you know me as the author who writes the Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller series. If you are one of my fans who has followed along as I get Troy into and out of some zany, yet suspenseful situations, you might have read his 6th adventure called SHARK WAVE. (I’m including a couple of chapters of that book here so you can see where she originated.)

  In the opening pages of the book we meet a brand new character named Prosperity Spartanburg. If you haven’t read it, go back and check it out. This might give you some insight on this super cool character that I’m excited to give her own series.

  I’ve teamed up with Cherie Mitchell to give Prosperity a distinctly female voice and character so that she will resonate more truthfully than if I had written her myself. I told Cherie I wanted Prosperity to be something like the TV show Bones with a little touch of romance mixed in.

  I sincerely hope you love this series as much as I do!

  Please be sure to visit TropicalThrillers.com/readergroup and join the Beachbum Brigade Reader Group so you’ll be among the first to know about my promotions, events and specials!

  Thank you, Kind Reader,

  Part I

  SOME BEACH

  An Excerpt from SHARK WAVE - A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller #6

  “Home alone, sittin’ by the phone,

  waitin’ on the tide to come and take me on home.”

  -Ronnie “Wayfarer” Hobgood

  1

  Quiet Vineyard Haven

  Troy Clint Bodean had been here over a month and he still couldn’t get used to the fact that he was lying on the beach in front of a 13.5 million dollar mansion. Tucked down into the sand beside him sat a cooler with three Coronas, half a dozen orange wedges, and three empty bottles.

  A football-sized speaker belted out a vintage tune that Troy had never heard before. Clarice had turned him on to a whole new catalog of Bob Marley songs. He missed that girl—or at least he missed the fact that she often walked around naked. His Outback Tea-stained Cowboy hat was pe
rched back on his head and the sun warmed his skin to something just below sizzling. Life is good, he thought. He took the last sip of his tepid beer and reached into the cooler for another.

  He popped the top using a bottle cap opener cleverly engineered into the bottom of his Reef flip-flops and shoved an orange wedge into the bubbling beer. The beach was quiet today with only the distant sounds of children playing a few mansions down and a group of gulls diving into the surf.

  Farther out in the brilliant green-blue ocean, he saw a pod of dolphins jumping and turning in tall splashes and sprays of water. It made him think of Clarice again. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from his relationship with her, but he’d needed something to fill the void left in his soul when Meira had died. His eyes still watered when he thought of her. She was something special and he wondered if he would ever find love like that again.

  As he watched the dolphins travel south and fade out of view, he raised his beer bottle toasting them.

  “Happy trails, fellas,” he said, taking a sip. “If y’all run into Clarice, tell her I don’t hold it against her.”

  He inhaled deeply picturing her pert, tan-line-free bottom running around the house. She’d done that with giggles and smiles until her old boyfriend Todd had called and broken the good news. Their ragtag band of activist millennials had been accepted on the next voyage of The Sea Shepherd.

  Paul Watson and his save-the-whales warriors were setting sail for another season of harassing the Japanese whaling fleet, and they needed a crew for a new boat they’d purchased for the trip.

  “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime,” she’d told Troy while packing her bags.

  Though he knew there was nothing between Clarice and Todd, he still felt small pangs of jealousy. But more than that, he felt the shock of suddenly being homeless again, because Clarice had chosen that time to let Troy know the house wasn’t really hers. It was an Airbnb.

  “The rent runs out on Saturday,” she’d said and pecked him on the cheek. “So you can at least stay till then.”

  As her Uber drove her away, he worked out that it was Friday.

  “Dangit.”

  2

  Prosperity Returns

  Warm hazy dawn light cascaded through the thin wooden slats that lined the cabana walls. Troy’s back screamed at him for choosing to fall asleep on the teak lounge chair without the cushion. Truth be known, he hadn’t chosen to fall asleep at all. The empty Corona bottles made it clear that he had passed out there.

  He sat up and stretched. The creaks and cracks in his back were nothing compared to the gritty grinding in his bad knee. He figured at some point, he was going to have to get the thing looked at by a doctor. For now, he rubbed it until it warmed up enough to let him stumble up to the house.

  He guessed it would take him five minutes to pack his things and vacate the rented mansion. That left him at least thirty minutes to shower and search the house for some Icy Hot to rub on his knee. He gathered as many of his bottles as he could and slogged up the sand to the wooden stairs. He turned around and took a good long look at the gently rolling surf. It was going to be a beautiful day. At least it was here. He wasn’t sure where he was going, or what it would be like when he got there.

  “Later, Troy,” he said to no one. “Let’s get these old bones in a hot shower and then we’ll figure that out.”

  At the top of the stairs, he dumped the bottles into a recycling barrel. They probably don’t take glass, but neither do I, he thought. Let the rental people deal with ’em. He rinsed his feet with ice cold water from a green garden hose that sprayed water in random jets from the various cracks in it. One such jet hit him in the face and he jerked backward from it. His Costa Del Mar sunglasses flew off his face. Troy was happy to see that they survived the short fall but now they had a nice new gouge in exactly the center of the right lens. He wiped them clean and put them back on as he took the next flight of steps up to the massive back deck on the house.

  The screen door squeaked loudly as he entered the house, and the frigid air conditioning made him shiver as he wrenched the sliding door open. It was hard to pull, and when he closed it, it slipped suddenly and slammed onto his right pinky. Pain shot up his arm and he gripped it tightly, willing the sudden shock out of it.

  When it finally calmed down, he looked at it and saw his fingernail was dark red but other than that, it looked like it was fine. He wriggled it gently and decided it probably wasn’t broken.

  “Dang rich people.” He threw his hands up. “Thirteen million dollar house and they cain’t get a new hose, or a new screen door, or a new slidin’ door. Typical.”

  But the massive house had no answer for him, and his voice echoed off the tile floor making it feel emptier and lonelier than ever. He tossed his hat onto the white Italian leather sectional and laid his sunglasses on the glass table next to it. He stripped his khaki shorts off as he walked back toward the ridiculously extravagant master bedroom on this level—there was another equally impressive master upstairs.

  He turned on the water and stepped in when it had reached a temperature that wouldn’t be acceptable to any but those with military training—just above Antarctic cold. The stinging water jabbed at the sunburn on his shoulders and back. Trails of sand swirled off his body and drizzled into the drain at his feet. Slowly, the water began to warm until it filled the tennis court-sized bathroom with steam and the long wall of mirrors fogged. He picked up a generic bottle of body wash and emptied it onto his head. His black hair drooped down and lay on his back just below his shoulder blades.

  “Time to get a haircut,” he mumbled, knowing he didn’t have enough money for that just yet.

  The thirty minutes he spent rinsing left him crinkly and prickly. He wrapped a white towel around his waist and used a second one to wipe a small circle away in the mirror. His face was ruddy, his beard was thick, and his eyes were slightly red.

  “Dadgum, Troy,” he said to his reflection. “You need to get away.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” a voice from the door surprised him.

  He jerked around to see who was there and as he did, his towel slipped and fell to the wet tile floor. A girl with a long, auburn ponytail stood in the doorway, a look of shock on her face.

  Troy looked down and realized that his lily-white midsection was exposed for all the world—or at least one red-headed girl—to see. He bent down and grabbed the towel covering himself.

  “Beg pardon, miss,” he said, struggling to keep his nether regions covered. “I didn’t know anyone was supposed to be here.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Troy saw that she had a kelly green, polyester polo shirt on with a bright yellow logo that read: Martha’s Maids. And her arms were full of folded white towels.

  “You’re the maid, I reckon?”

  She nodded, her eyes still wide from the troubling situation. He could see that she was young, maybe college. Probably working to pay for school. There was a little edge of fear in her eyes and Troy raised one hand. That left his towel dangling precariously over his middle.

  “I was just gettin’ in a last shower before I took off. I’ll be gone before you can say, ‘lickety split.’ ”

  She glanced around the bathroom, found an empty marble shelf, and laid the stack of towels down. Troy took the few seconds of her looking away to secure his towel around his waist.

  “Doesn’t matter to me much.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just doing the check-out cleaning.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. As she studied it, Troy noticed her eyes. Green. Almost as green as her shirt with a darker green ring around the outside. She looked up and saw him staring at her. A hint of a smile edged up on her lips.

  “Looks like the place is empty until next month.”

  “Oh, well, okay.”

  “Meaning, you could stay if you want.” She waved a hand around the giant bathroom. “Not like anyone else is using it. Hell, I�
��ll come by in a few days and clean it up again if you like.”

  As she spoke, Troy decided she was beautiful. He wondered what she would look like prancing around the house naked like Clarice. He shook his head.

  “I couldn’t,” he said. “I reckon I should be going.”

  “Well, take your time leaving.” She smiled a little broader. “I never like being here alone. You could keep me company, mister … um … ?”

  “Troy. Troy Bodean.”

  He stuck out his hand. She shook it with the softest hand Troy had ever felt. As he did this, his towel slipped again and he grabbed it just in time.

  “I’m Prosperity.” She grinned and put her hand up to shield her eyes.

  Of course you are, thought Troy.

  She looked at an invisible watch on her arm. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and I’ll be tidying up in the living room. I can clean up in here when you’re done.”

  “Good idea.”

  She turned to walk away and Troy felt his pulse quicken. She did have a nice backside like Clarice after all. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him looking at her. She rolled her eyes and disappeared through the door.

  Troy looked back into the foggy mirror that was just now starting to clear. He still looked pretty haggard, but his eyes were most definitely brighter. He wondered if his future had just gotten a little brighter too. It scared him that whenever he had that thought. It usually meant something really bad was about to happen.

  3

  Room To Room