Raising Prosperity

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Working on it,” he confirmed. “What’s your early opinion of the cause of death? Drowning?”

  “I’m not sure.” She watched as a small boy threw and caught a blow up beach ball, while a woman in a large-brimmed sun hat laid out a red and white striped towel on the coarse sand. At the point where the sand ended, a row of boulders and rocks made a demarcation line between the shore and the array of seafood cafes and clam huts. A large sculpture of a man harpooning a swordfish decorated the dunes above the parking lot and offered tourists the chance for arty snapshots or pics for their Instagram feed. It was a pleasant, summery scene and not the kind of spot where one would expect to come across the victim of a suspicious death.

  “Gross,” Reuben muttered in disgust and Prosperity turned back to see what had caused his revulsion.

  She watched as a tiny crab crawled out from between Ophelia’s lips and scuttled across her cheek, its miniature claws held high. The scent of strawberries grew stronger.

  “Hand me a pair of gloves,” Prosperity commanded.

  She snapped the latex coverings onto her hands and leaned over the body, lifting one of Ophelia’s eyelids in order to examine her eyes. She nodded to herself. Just as she’d expected.

  “I know that look, Prosperity Spartanburg.” Reuben was watching her closely. “What’s that crazy brain of yours telling you now?”

  “I don’t think she drowned. I’m willing to bet that someone, or something, suffocated her. The blood spots on her eyeballs are a classic sign of death by suffocation and there is no sign of froth around her nostrils and mouth, which is what I might expect to see on a drowning victim. The autopsy will show up any evidence of Paltauf’s spots on the lungs but … ”

  Prosperity stared at Ophelia’s parted lips once again. There was something odd about the position of her mouth, a definite pout to her lips that Prosperity could not recall seeing in any of Ophelia’s publicity photos or in her television interview. Botox? Lip fillers?

  Prosperity carefully edged her finger between Ophelia’s lips, forcing herself to ignore the icky, gummy sensation and the thought that she was intruding into an intimate, private area of a stranger. Her coursework in Funeral Services and then Forensic Pathology hadn’t succeeded in making her immune to the knowledge that she was dealing with what once had been a real living, breathing, laughing, loving person. Her probing finger came up against an object that she did not recognize as any that she would expect to find inside a mouth; it was neither tongue nor teeth nor bony, ribbed palate. She probed harder and felt a slight give in the lumpy mass but still it refused to budge.

  She withdrew her finger and examined the latex-covered digit, not too surprised to see traces of pink, strawberry flavored bubble gum coating the tip of the glove. The sickly scent of strawberries wrapped around her nostrils and made her stomach do a backflip. She held her finger up for Reuben’s inspection.

  “There’s a giant wad of bubblegum lodged firmly in her throat and I’m prepared to bet my Beetle that it’s Rump brand. Might even be the hugely popular Exploding Bubbles line. She either shoved it in there herself, blocking her windpipe before suffocating and collapsing into the sea, or someone shoved it in there for her before attempting to dispose of her body.”

  3

  Ecstatic Tattoo

  “Do you want to know what I think? I think the cause of death was a message of some kind. The perpetrator wanted to make it known that Ophelia Rump had been permanently silenced.”

  Reuben raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Prosperity’s comment as he took a hearty sip of his gin and tonic. He savored the liquid for several seconds before removing the sprig of lemongrass and placing his glass back down on the table. Two days had passed since Ophelia Rump’s body washed up on Menemsha Public Beach and he’d agreed to meet Prosperity at the Grumpy Swordfish to discuss the progress of the case.

  “Never did like the taste of lemongrass. Reminds me of a disastrous trip I took to Bali during my college days.”

  Prosperity tucked that nugget of information away for further investigation at some later date. Reuben had never talked too much about his past and she was interested to know just what life experiences lay behind that rugged, handsome exterior. What brand of silly putty had shaped the man? However, they were here to discuss Ophelia today and she would not let herself be drawn away from the topic at hand.

  “I watched her final interview again last night. The reporter asked her if the rumors were true about a significant other and she haughtily brushed it off. Warned him that she’d end the interview if he carried on asking those kinds of questions. I’ve researched some of the boyfriend rumors but there’s nothing concrete. The gutter press has linked her to everyone from Donald Trump to the Crown Prince of Jordan but nothing has ever been substantiated.”

  Reuben snorted. “Rump humps Trump. Pop-pop, a bubble-o!”

  Prosperity giggled. She swirled the remains of her mojito around in the glass, picturing Ophelia’s disdainful expression as she rebuked the reporter for his inappropriate line of questioning.

  “She was the last remaining heir to the Rump Gum fortune, wasn’t she?”

  “Apparently. An older brother died in a speedboat accident three years ago and there is a cousin who hasn’t been seen for years. Time will tell if he decides to come out of the woodwork to make a claim on the billions.”

  “And she was here on the island on her own?”

  “Yeah. Flew in last Friday to attend a friend’s thirtieth. I’ve got the team questioning everyone who was at the party.” Reuben raised his hand to signal for another G&T. “Do you want another drink?”

  “No, I’m good for now. Did anyone find the missing charm bracelet?”

  “No. It wasn’t at the Oak Bluffs house. The team on the mainland are going through her permanent home with a fine tooth comb but it hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “Remind me again of what we’ve got, Ruby. I’ve got a strange feeling that we’re missing something.”

  He slanted a sideways glance at her at the use of the nickname but she pretended not to see it. Yes, she knew not to poke the sleeping bear but it was kind of fun to rile Reuben up every now and then.

  “Before I do that, why don’t you use your name psychology-terminology-puppetology or whatever it is you call it and tell me what kind of characteristics a person named Ophelia might have.”

  He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and Prosperity was well aware that the sleeping bear she’d just poked was biting back. She held his gaze for several seconds to let him know that she was the one with the stick before she answered his question.

  “Ophelias like the finer things in life, they have a wide circle of friends and colleagues, and they can be secretive in their actions but they have a kind, generous heart beneath their sometimes aloof exterior.”

  Reuben didn’t look impressed. “Most people already know those things about Ophelia Rump. Two seconds worth of online searches would tell you more. You haven’t won me over with your woo-woo hippy name game yet, Prosperity.”

  Prosperity hadn’t won herself over with the woo-woo hippy name game either, but she was determined to keep using it in Serendipity’s name. Her mother’s legacy was important and Serendipity had held complete faith in the ancient and much-maligned practice of name psychology.

  “Can we get back to what we’ve discovered since Ophelia’s body washed up?”

  Reuben pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open as the barman sat a fresh G&T on the table. “You already know all of this from your attendance at the autopsy.”

  “I want to hear it again. As I say, I think we’re missing something.”

  “A large wad of chewed bubblegum was removed from victim’s throat at the crime scene,” Reuben read from his nearly illegible notes. “It appears this blockage was the cause of death, rather than drowning, as no sea water was found in her lungs.”

  “Rump brand, Sensational Strawberry flavor. One of the
company’s original product lines and part of the range that put it on the confectionary map back in the fifties.”

  “Right.” Reuben sipped his drink and flipped over another page. “A single bubblegum wrapper was found in her pocket. One of the Exploding Bubbles range in Mammoth Mango flavor.”

  “Which doesn’t match the flavor of the product removed from her mouth. They’re doing another test on the wrapper at the lab but my gut feeling tells me they won’t find anything.”

  “Mammoth Mango. That’s my niece’s favorite flavor. You know the premise of the Exploding Bubbles range, don’t you? Have you ever eaten a stick of that brand of Rump gum?”

  “I might’ve tried a pack or two in my wild and misspent youth.” She said in a droll, bored tone, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

  Reuben should know by now that there were few junk food lines, edible delicacies, or other taste sensations that she hadn’t sampled. Heck, you name it and Prosperity could just about swear she’d had it in her mouth at least once.

  “Well, you’ll know that the gum is designed to explode in the chewer’s mouth, at which stage it releases a new flavor. The Mammoth Mango flavor … ”

  “Turns into Passionate Pineapple. Yeah, I know. However, the gum found in her throat wasn’t of the Exploding Bubbles variety.”

  “There could be some significance to the wrapper being there. Ophelia doesn’t seem the type to store empty wrappers on her person. I’m sure she had plenty of manservants and hangers-on who were only too happy to scoop up her litter.”

  “I’m sure she did, too. She hardly went anywhere without a paid entourage trotting obediently behind her. We’ll leave the bubblegum aspect alone for now. We’re not getting anywhere by heading blindly down that path. Read me the part about the tattoo.”

  The freshly etched tattoo had been a surprise but Prosperity knew better than anyone, after cleaning up after other people for years, that nothing should surprise her anymore. She pulled out her hairband and re-tied her ponytail, picturing the four-inch tattoo in her mind as Reuben found the page he was looking for in his notepad. The tattoo had been fresh enough for the inked lines to display small dried scabs of blood, despite the body’s recent drenching in seawater.

  “Ah, the tattoo. The image of a bluebird on the left buttock with the word ECSTATIC etched below it and a small, leaping fish above it. Appears to have been done shortly before the deceased took her last breath.” Reuben leveled his gaze at Prosperity. “What do you make of that?”

  “I’m still working on that one. As you said, she’d attended a birthday party in the days prior to her death. Perhaps it was a dare after a few too many drinks? I can’t make any sense of the symbolism—bluebirds, fish, and ECSTATIC don’t seem to have much in common at first glance.”

  “Could represent the bluebird of happiness.”

  “It could, which would tie in with the word ECSTATIC. But why the fish?”

  “Who knows?” Reuben flipped another page. “A crumpled note was found inside her bra with the words ‘clutch cargo’ written in blue ink.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the note. Could the words be something to do with the gum company? Perhaps it was referring to a new candy cargo they were expecting?”

  “I doubt it. Ophelia had nothing to do with the logistics of the business. Her role was as PR Princess, a position she took very seriously.” Reuben sighed and shut the notebook. “And that’s about all we have for now.”

  “What about the fibers from under her fingernails? The traces of red fabric?”

  “The lab is doing a second analysis of those, too. First results showed they might be from a uniform of some kind, possibly a uniform belonging to a burger bar employee. Speaking of burgers … ” Reuben tucked the notebook back into his pocket and pushed himself away from the table. “I might swing by Fat Ronnie’s for a Sea Chicken burger on the way home. Wanna come?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll pass this time.” Prosperity swung her bag over her shoulder and got up to follow him out of the bar. “I’ve still got the feeling that we’re missing something important. I might drive out to the beach and take another look around.”

  4

  Mission Accomplished

  Prosperity steered her Beetle toward Oak Bluffs rather than driving directly to Menemsha, acting on a vague hunch more than anything else. Ruby had said that they’d found nothing out of order at Ophelia’s holiday house but she wanted to take a look at the area anyway. She’d visited Oak Bluffs a couple of times since moving to M.V. but she didn’t know a whole lot about the Oak Bluffs community other than the obvious quaint cuteness of the gingerbread cottages.

  She passed over the Jaws Bridge, a much-photographed local landmark following its appearance in the immensely popular shark attack movie. The sun was low on the horizon now and Prosperity pressed her foot down as far as she dared on the accelerator, wanting to get where she needed to be before nightfall. She didn’t plan on hanging around too long either—she had a mountain of study to get through this evening with an exam looming on Thursday.

  “Yikes!” Prosperity hit the brakes as a huge, bouncing rat bounded out of the hydrangea bushes at the side of the street, spring-boarded across the asphalt, and disappeared behind a white picket fence.

  She gripped her steering wheel and watched incredulously as a young man in a tropical print shirt sprinted after the apparition. She stared at the fence until the man reappeared, surprised to see he was now grinning broadly and had the animal attached to the end of a collar and leash. She opened the door and climbed part way out, making sure to keep the door as a shield between her and the rat on steroids.

  “What the hell is that?” Her heart was still pounding wildly and she felt as if it were about to burst out of her chest and disappear into the hydrangeas itself.

  “Meet Joey.” The man affectionately patted the animal’s pointy little head. “He has a tendency to get away from me if I don’t watch him carefully.”

  “A kangaroo?” Prosperity stared at the creature, wondering what kind of God had decided that an animal with a head like a rat, hindquarters that put those of any bullfrog to shame, and a furry tail as thick as her arm was a good idea. Apparently, this particular mammal’s creator was a God who had been into some of her daddy’s weed before he started his work for the day.

  “Nah. He’s a wallaby. I don’t have the space for a kangaroo.” The man flipped his blonde-tipped fringe out of his eyes and held out his hand. “Mission Talbot. My friends call me Mish.”

  “Prosperity Spartanburg. Do you live here?” She realized they were only a few hundred feet away from the first of the gingerbread cottages.

  “No. I’m staying here for a few days. I’m a location scout for The Dog’s Bawlz Movie Company.” He said this boastfully, watching her face for a reaction, but Prosperity had never heard of The Dog’s Bawlz.

  It was probably yet another of those ballsy, fly-by-night companies run by trust fund babies who were all big ideas without the gumption to follow through. All pants and no trousers.

  “Nice,” she said non-committedly. “And you’re allowed to bring Joey along?”

  “He’s my therapy animal. Never leaves my side.”

  “Unless he’s jumping in front of VW Beetles and almost causing major vehicular accidents,” Prosperity pointed out drily. “Good to meet you, Mish. I’ll keep going—I’ve got things to do before it gets too dark to see.”

  She went to climb back into the driver’s seat as Mish spoke again. “You wouldn’t happen to know which of these houses belongs to the Rump family, would you?”

  “Oddly enough, that’s also the house I’m looking for. All I know is that it’s painted pink with white trim. Why do you want to know?”

  Prosperity narrowed her eyes at the man, wondering if he was one of those unsavory murder tourist groupie types. Ophelia’s death was all over the newspapers and news sites and some macabre curiosity was only to be expected, but she wasn’t interested in staying aroun
d to chat with a cheap thrill seeker and his hairy wannabe-kangaroo.

  “I have an appointment with Miss Rump. The boss is interested in using her house for our next movie and she said I could come in to take a look around. She can be very accommodating when it comes to the support of good causes.” He gazed off down the street in the direction of a candy-colored, pink and white cottage. “I’m looking for No. 16. Do you think that might be it?”

  “Um … you do know that Ophelia Rump is deceased?” Prosperity asked carefully, eying up the wallaby as it sniffed her bare leg. There were a couple of big ratty-looking front teeth behind that furry little snout and Prosperity was rather fond of her slim, shapely legs. “Do wallabies bite?”

  “She’s dead?” Mish appeared genuinely shocked by this news. “Since when?”

  “Couple of days ago. How could you have missed it? It’s even outed the Korean and Russian squabbles from the top of the newsfeed.” She peered at him closely, concerned now by his lack of color and his dazed expression. “Are you all right?”

  “How did she die?” He braced his hand on the roof of the Beetle to steady himself and even his pet rat was giving him odd looks now.

  “Do you need to sit down?” He had told her that Joey was a therapy animal after all; perhaps he suffered from some dire health condition. Should she call for help?

  Mish sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a few minutes. I’ve been traveling and I haven’t looked at the news. I’m guessing she didn’t die from natural causes?”

  “No,” Prosperity said shortly, not wanting to give away too much. The press had reported the death as suspicious and alluded to the discovery of the body on the beach, but nothing further had been released as yet.

  “I’m going to have to make some calls.” Mish seemed to recover himself somewhat as he tugged at the wallaby’s leash. “Come on, Joey.”