Raising Prosperity

by Cherie Mitchell

  “Thanks. You mentioned gemstones a while back. Is there a story there?”

  He gulped his beer and smacked his lips, taking his time with his reply. Prosperity glanced around at the other patrons, a mix of tourists, family groups, and a bunch of businessmen who looked slightly the worse for the wear after what appeared to be a long, boozy business lunch. There was a small commotion on the other side of the bar and she craned her neck to see what was going on. Several children hovered excitedly around one of the tables and Blaine turned to see what she was looking at.

  “Hey, someone has a kangaroo.”

  “That’s not a kangaroo. It’s a therapy wallaby named Joey.” She saw Mish talking to a man with a potbelly, a bushy, yellow beard and a faded anchor tattoo on his freckled bicep. “He belongs to Mish Talbot. He’s location scout for The Dog’s Bawlz Movie Company.”

  “Interesting.” Blaine looked anything but interested as he turned back to face her. “Where were we?”

  “You were about to tell me your gemstone story.”

  “Yeah.” He toyed with his glass as Prosperity dived back into the bowl of corn chips.

  The salsa was mighty fine, with just the right amount of chili kick. If Blaine didn’t offer to pay for a meal there was enough of a snack here to call it dinner and Prosperity was content enough with that. Her money situation wasn’t as bad as it once was but it still paid a girl to watch her budget.

  “I knew a girl once,” Blaine said at last. “Crystal Diamante.”

  His eyes had a faraway look in them and he was gazing at Prosperity without really seeing her. “I honestly thought I was going to marry her.”

  “What happened?” Prosperity braced herself for a sad, possibly tragic ending to Blaine’s tale of love lost.

  “She took a job on a cruise ship and never came back.” His mouth drooped mournfully. “Last I heard she was making a name for herself as the ship’s cabaret singer.”

  “You didn’t keep in touch?” She’d finished her drink and the bowl of corn chips was nearly empty, save for a few scattered crumbs and a sprinkle of salt.

  The bar was growing busier as the after-work crowd made their way in and someone jostled against her from behind. She decided she would let Blaine talk a little more and then she’d make her excuses and leave.

  “I tried, but it’s difficult when she’s constantly on the move. We haven’t spoken for at least a year now.”

  “Some prayers are best unanswered.”

  “I guess.” Blaine winced and straightened his leg. “The old knee injury is giving me trouble today. It always aches when the weather is about to change. Don’t be too surprised if we get a shower later tonight.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. About your knee injury, I mean.” She smiled sympathetically as she hopped down from the stool and set off for the door. “Thanks so much for the drink but I’m going to head back. Things to see and people to do, you know how it is.”

  “We’ll have to do this again sometime, Prosperity.”

  They stood outside the bar and she lifted her face to sniff the tangy, salty breeze. It felt like one of those evenings just made to remind a person how good it was to be alive. Blaine swung his keyring from his little finger and Prosperity caught sight of a silver Kombi van charm attached to the ring. Without warning, he swooped in smoothly for a kiss and Prosperity just as smoothly sidestepped him, moving her mouth out of reach and causing his lips to brush ineffectively against her hair.

  “Sure. I’ll let you know. Bye, Blaine.”

  She strolled away, her mind now on getting home, putting her feet up, and maybe watching an episode or two of Dr. K’s Exotic Animal E.R.

  7

  Moonbeam

  “Here, take my hand.” Reuben grasped Prosperity’s hand and wrist firmly as he assisted her from the wharf down into the boat.

  Sunday morning had dawned fine and clear, the sea birds whirled and cawed overhead and according to Reuben, it was the perfect kind of day to fish for sea bass.

  He released her hand and she wobbled across to a seat at the side of the boat as he pulled in the mooring rope.

  “You look a little nervous.”

  She felt safer now that she was sitting down with the solid side of the boat against her back.

  “I’m not a strong swimmer. Pick any other sport and I’ll be there with bells on, but I just never got the hang of swimming.”

  He gave her a sympathetic glance as he threw her a life preserver and started the motor.

  “I guess you never got the chance to go to the beach when you were a kid?”

  “We often used to go out to Samoa Dunes, Moonstone Beach, and Mad River Beach back in Arcata but I never cared to venture into the ocean. Too busy working on my tan.”

  She could picture their family picnics now in her mind’s eye. Serendipity would have one of her tie-dyed muumuus spread out on the sand, and there would be a pitcher of homemade lemonade and some of Rolling Stone’s special brownies arranged on a plate to share. The faint, homely scent of Mary Jane and that warm feeling of relaxed inner peace completed her sentimental memory and for a fleeting minute, she wished she were back there again.

  Reuben raised his eyebrows at the names of the Arcata beaches. “Moonstone Beach and Mad River Beach? That’s all very hippy trippy.”

  “Well, Arcata is well-known for its hippy community. I was actually named after Moonstone Beach.”

  “Prosperity? Doesn’t sound much like Moonstone to me.”

  “My middle name is Moonbeam.”

  “I’m still not getting the connection.”

  “I was conceived at Moonstone Beach on the night of a full moon. Moonstone, Moonbeam? Mama switched it up a bit. She always was clever with words.”

  “Ah.” He turned back to the wheel and began to hum the Exploding Bubbles jingle. Pop-pop, a bubble-o! They steered out past the bobbing, moored yachts and into the open water. Out here and away from the shelter of the island, the breeze was stronger but still pleasant. Reuben pointed at the lumpy shapes of the Elizabeth Islands ahead of them in the distance. “Rory said the best spot for bass is out there, nearer to Cuttyhunk.”

  “I’m surprised that he shared the location of his favorite fishing spot. Don’t fisherman usually guard that kind of information with their lives?”

  “He didn’t tell me the exact location. I’ll have to go on gut instinct for that. I’ve got a nose for bass.”

  Reuben plonked a sea captain hat on his head, one of the cheap caps imported from China and sold in the touristy shops back on shore, and went back to humming the Exploding Bubbles jingle.

  “You’ve certainly got a nose for something,” Prosperity murmured as she glanced at his impressive profile. She gazed down at the diamonds of light sparkling off the waves, lulled into a sense of serenity and well-being by the rhythmic movement of the boat. This was … nice. Nicer than she’d imagined it would be. This had been a good weekend, beginning with her not-so-bad outing with Blaine. She suddenly remembered Mish. “Do you know anything about The Dog’s Bawlz?”

  “Ahhhh … is this another one of your trick questions?”

  “They’re a movie company,” Prosperity explained patiently. “I drove out to Oak Bluffs after our meeting at the Drunken Swordfish. I bumped into a location scout named Mish Talbot out there. He said he had an appointment with Ophelia about using her house for a movie and he acted extremely shocked when I told him she was dead. More shocked than I would have expected a casual acquaintance to be.”

  “I think I saw one of their movies once. Some artsy fartsy noir film featuring man-eating gerbils. What were they planning to film at Ophelia’s house?”

  “He didn’t say. The news that she was dead sent him reeling and he hurried off to make some phone calls.”

  “What were you doing at Oak Bluffs?”

  “I wanted to see the house. I’m trying to get a feel for the person Ophelia Rump was away from the bright, fake lights of the celebrity world. Mish also
told me that she often supported numerous charitable causes. I figured it might be worth doing some digging into some of her favorite charities to see if any clues turn up there.”

  “I’ll get Rory to do some investigating, too. It shouldn’t be too hard to discover where her donations went.” Reuben offered her a stick of Mammoth Mango gum and they chewed in companionable silence as the boat bounced onward across the light waves.

  “Did your team manage to unearth Ophelia’s missing charm bracelet in their search of her mainland property?”

  Reuben shook his head. “No sign of it. That’s the biggest mystery at the moment, aside from the motive and who the murderer is. Her jeweler has confirmed that the bracelet’s current value is around $6.5 million. I’ve got an inkling that if we find the bracelet we have a good chance of finding out who it was that wanted Ophelia permanently silenced.”

  Prosperity shoved her gum to one side of her mouth with her tongue and gave a low whistle. “$6.5 mill. That would buy a few Sea Chicken burgers.”

  “Do you remember that note tucked into Ophelia’s bra?”

  “I remember it. I’ve been racking my brains trying to work out what it could’ve meant. I feel like I’m missing something, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it was part of a shopping list. Maybe she was after some new cargo pants and a clutch purse.”

  “No, I don’t think it was part of any shopping list. I found out it’s the name of a TV show from the late 1950s and early 60s. Clutch Cargo was a cartoon series that was considered revolutionary at the time.”

  Prosperity sat forward, interested now. Anything to do with the 60s fascinated her, but she supposed that had a lot to do with her hippy upbringing and her parents’ passion for everything far out and freaky, man.

  “Bizarre. What do you think it has to do with Ophelia?”

  “I don’t know. The story was about the intrepid adventurer Clutch Cargo, his young assistant Spinner, and a floppy-eared dachshund dog named Paddlefoot. I can’t find anything that links it to Ophelia or to any of the Rump family. The series was a surprise hit, shown on 65 stations across the nation in 1960. By the late 60s, it had been sold to multiple other countries and even children in places like New Zealand and Tasmania were growing up with the adventures of Clutch Cargo, Spinner, and Paddlefoot. It certainly wasn’t planned that way, but it turned out to be one of those unlikely American success stories.”

  “Why was it so revolutionary?”

  “The show went out in a series of five 5-minute episodes, with the first four ending in a cliffhanger and the last one solving the mystery. It blended real-life footage with cartoons and whenever the characters spoke, real human actors’ lips mouthed the words. It just seemed to be a formula that captured people’s imaginations at the time.”

  “Spacey. Sounds like something my family would’ve enjoyed.”

  “Placed No. 19 on TruTv’s List of Dumbest Ever TV Shows.”

  “Daddy definitely would’ve loved it if that was the case. He always did enjoy dumb TV shows.” Prosperity thought fondly of the way Rolling Stone would hunker down in front of America’s Funniest Videos and laugh and laugh, slapping his thigh as everyday people blundered across the screen and attempted to kill themselves in creative ways while loving family members stood by and filmed the entire incident.

  “I’ve read everything I can find about the series, even watched a couple of episodes but as I said, I can’t find any correlation between the show and Ophelia.”

  “I wonder if it has anything to do with The Dog’s Bawlz? Seems to be a bit much of a coincidence that she had a film crew sniffing around her cottage and the name of a TV show in her underwear.”

  “We might need to have a chat with your new friend Mish Talbot. He might know something that we need to know.” Reuben abruptly cut the engine and reached for the anchor chain. “We’re here. This is the spot.”

  8

  A Solid Spinner

  Reuben fumbled in the locker beneath the seat opposite where Prosperity sat. His back was to her but she had a pleasant view of his denim-encased butt from here. Reuben was a well-built, fit man and he certainly had his fair share of attractions.

  “I’ve got a 6’ 6” that collapses to 14.5 inches and has good action.”

  Prosperity’s eyes widened. “I’m impressed.”

  He stood up and laid the rod and reel reverently on the seat. “I won’t use that today though.” He dived back into the locker. “Today I’m after a rod with extra power and sensitivity.”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  “The Pflueger Trion.” Reuben lifted out another rod and reel that looked exactly like any other rod and reel Prosperity had ever seen, handling it as tenderly as if it were his firstborn child. “A king among rod and reel combos and a getup designed to pull in the big ones.”

  Prosperity stifled a yawn. “A fishing rod, in other words.”

  “Fishing is an art form, Prosperity. As in any art form, it is essential to use the right tools for the craft.” He reached back into the locker and pulled out a plastic box. “I’ve got some new lures to try out and this is the perfect opportunity. I can almost smell that black sea bass cooking already.”

  He flipped open the lid of the box and Prosperity’s blood ran hot then cold when she saw the roll of duct tape. “Ah, Ruby? Can you put that duct tape somewhere else? You know I have a phobia about it ever since I was kidnapped.”

  “Sorry.” He took out the roll of tape and flung it back into the locker. “I keep forgetting.”

  Prosperity grabbed one of the cushions to prop behind her head, pulled her sun hat on, and stretched out along the bench seat. “Talk to me, Ruby. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  “Something you don’t know about me,” Reuben mused. “Where do I start?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me anything. What about that disastrous trip to Bali you mentioned?” Prosperity wriggled around to make herself more comfortable on her makeshift recliner.

  “Look at that beauty.”

  Prosperity raised her head over the side of the boat to see what it was that Reuben was talking about. A majestic luxury yacht was gliding past a few yards away from where they now sat at anchor, looking like something out of a James Bond movie.

  “It’s gorgeous! I’d love to go for a sail on that.”

  “I saw it at the marina the other day. Belongs to that family … ” Reuben snapped his fingers in an attempt to jog his memory. “Dammit, I can’t remember their name. Those yachts are worth more money than you or I will ever see.”

  “Have you ever been onboard a boat like that?”

  “A couple of times. We had a murder to investigate last year that involved a luxury yacht and a Siamese cat.”

  “What are they like on the inside? I’ve always wondered.”

  “Siamese cats?”

  “Funny. Luxury yachts.”

  “Oh. Glamorous. Opulent. Basically a five-star floating hotel.” Reuben rooted around in the plastic box until he found the lure he was looking for. He held it up to show Prosperity. “Mepps Black Fury. A solid spinner with good water contrast.”

  “A spinner? Like Spinner in the Clutch Cargo show?”

  “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that but yeah, some lures are also known as spinners. If that’s what Ophelia meant to suggest by the note, it certainly adds an extra twist to the mystery. I never pegged her as a fishing aficionado.” He attached the spinner to the end of the nylon line and stood up. “Let’s see what this baby can do.”

  Prosperity sat up, suddenly excited by the direction the conversation had taken. “Maybe Ophelia was trying to leave a clue. Maybe her death did have something to do with fishing. Could she have meant fishing tackle? Isn’t that what you guys call your fishing equipment? What if she meant tackle, as in to grapple with? You know, like crime fighters tackling rising crime or consumers tackling a shortage of avocados?”

  “Spinner, fishing tackle … tackle … meh, who knows?” Reuben p
ulled the rod back over his shoulder and cast the line out. “She could’ve been a little less vague if she was trying to leave us a clue like that.”

  “Hmmm.” Prosperity lay back down against her cushion. “I think it’s worth considering and we should definitely keep it in mind. We don’t know much yet about the real Ophelia; perhaps she was prone to giving cryptic hints. Anyway, go back to your story. The one about your unfortunate trip to Bali.”

  “It was a nightmare. It started so well—a bunch of us guys decided we’d go to Bali for Spring Break. We thought we were being so clever by bypassing the crowds at all the usual hotspots. We booked into The Stones, a hotel in downtown Kuta that markets itself as party central and man, were we ready to party.” He finished winding the line in and lifted the rod to cast out again.

  Prosperity watched him from under lowered lashes, trying to picture Reuben Jackson as a party-hard college boy. She had no doubt that he wouldn’t have suffered from any lack of female company—his were the type of classic good looks that developed early and remained long into old age.

  “So, we’d just checked into The Stones and Matt went off to get some beer.” Reuben grunted as he cast the line out as far as he could. “Matt was the joker of the group. Always up to some prank or another. Anyway, we’re chilling by the pool and Steve says, hey where’s Matt? He should’ve been back by now.”

  “Go on.” Prosperity sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, enjoying the story and Reuben’s way of telling it.

  “We waited a while longer but when Matt didn’t appear we decided to go looking for him. There we were, a bunch of American college kids walking through downtown Kuta and … ” Reuben stopped, then suddenly began to wind the reel handle with frantic, almost panicked enthusiasm. “Got something!”

  Prosperity jumped up from the seat to lean over the side and watch. Reuben expertly tightened then slackened the line, playing his catch as he gradually wound the fish closer to the boat. A few minutes later, the speckled body and spiny top fin of a large bass appeared in the water alongside them. Reuben chortled with glee as he reached for his net and scooped up the fish to bring it onboard.