Raising Prosperity

by Cherie Mitchell

  She’d just turned her head to look in the other direction, down toward the rocks at the end of the beach, when the boy on the blanket called out in a high, excited voice, “Look, Daddy! It’s a kangaroo!!”

  Prosperity spun around, already certain of who she would see. Sure enough, Mish and Joey were making their way down to the beach and attracting their fair share of attention. She frowned and pushed herself to her feet. Hadn’t Mish told her he was flying out today?

  “Hey, Mish.”

  The young man turned with a grin, which rapidly faded when he saw it was Prosperity. He tugged on Joey’s leash and glanced over his shoulder at the parking lot.

  “Uh, hi. We were just leaving.”

  “No you weren’t. I just watched you walk down the beach. Didn’t you tell me you were catching a flight back to the mainland today?”

  “Uh, change of plan.” He pulled again at Joey’s leash, but the animal stubbornly planted its huge feet in the sand and refused to budge.

  “So, is your change of plans anything to do with Ophelia’s murder?”

  “Of course not! Why would they be? I do have a life of my own, you know. Hey, I have to go. Have a good evening and enjoy the sunset.”

  He pulled hard on the leash and dragged Joey through the sand, the wallaby’s immobile feet acting like furry, mammalian ski blades. He manipulated the obstinate animal up the beach, leaving behind deep-set drag tracks in their wake, and disappeared around a sand dune.

  Shaking her head at the unfailing strangeness of people in general, Prosperity returned to her spot on the sand to watch the gorgeous orange and gold spectacle of the setting sun.

  17

  A Good Word

  Prosperity sat her laptop on the table and pulled the Animals of the Desert book toward her. She’d decided to pay a visit to the campus library between classes to research whether the Pygmy Jerboa was related to the common gerbil. There was probably only a slim chance that there was any connection between The Dog’s Bawlz gerbil movie and Ophelia’s passion for the desert rodent, but Prosperity was willing to grab at any slim chance she could get. The Rump case was moving appallingly slowly, in her opinion, and it was time for her to catch a lucky break.

  She flipped through the encyclopedic pages, past photographs of coyotes, cottontails, tarantulas, and mountain lions, until she reached the page about jerboas. She eagerly scanned the text and was disappointed to read that while the word gerbil was a diminutive of jerboa, the species were in fact unrelated. She snapped the book shut, unsure of where to go from here.

  “Hi, Prosperity. What are you doing?” Meghan pulled out the chair beside her, bringing with her the scent of strawberry shortcake shampoo and desperation. “Can I borrow your notes from this morning’s class? None of it made any sense to me.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Prosperity shoved the scrawled pages of notes across the table. “You probably won’t be able to read my writing.”

  “I’ve asked Jeremy for extra tutoring. I’m just finding this module really hard.” She pulled a pack of candy out of her bag and offered it to Prosperity. “Want some candy?”

  “Thanks. Who’s Jeremy?”

  Meghan went pink. “Professor Leigh.”

  “That figures. Hey, this is the candy company that’s running the charm competition.”

  Prosperity recognized the distinctive blue and purple logo of the Blue Jay candy range.

  “Yeah, I already have one.” She held her wrist up to show Prosperity the hourglass charm dangling from her bangle. “I was hoping to make it a pair.”

  She upended the bag into her lap and sorted through the candy before groaning in disappointment and heaping the pieces back into the bag. “Ugh. I’ve spent a fortune on these candies but so far, the hourglass is the only one I’ve found.”

  “Martin gave me one that he’d found.” Prosperity searched in her bag for the pencil and apple charm. “Look how cute it is.”

  “Awwww! That would look great dangling alongside my hourglass,” Meghan said wistfully. “I could trade you a granola bar.”

  “No, I want to keep it.” Prosperity suddenly felt uncharacteristically possessive toward the tiny trinket. She unattached it from the top of the pencil and hooked it onto the zip on her shoulder bag. “Blaine found a Kombi van in his candy bag that I’m lusting over. He bought me a pack but there wasn’t any prize inside.”

  “Blaine Kennedy?” Meghan’s eyes sparked with interest. “He’s that hunky firefighter with thighs to rival a South Pacific warrior, isn’t he?”

  “If you say so.”

  Prosperity pulled her laptop toward her and opened the lid. She was still annoyed with Blaine about the weekend’s brawl, and with Ruby too for that matter, and she didn’t particularly feel like talking about him right now.

  “Isn’t he studying Business Administration or something?” Meghan persisted, apparently unable to take a hint.

  “Business Management,” Prosperity said shortly, keeping her eyes on her computer screen. She hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Blaine yet but he had sent her a brief ‘sorry’ text on Sunday that she had not replied to.

  “Ooooh, I do like a man with his eye on success. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Fascinating.” Meghan sat back with a smug expression reminiscent of one of Blaine’s self-satisfied looks plastered across her own face. “I might have to have a chat with the handsome Mr. Kennedy.”

  “What about Jeremy?”

  “What about Jeremy? A girl has to keep her options open.”

  “From what I’ve heard, that isn’t all you’re keeping open.”

  Meghan sniffed. “I don’t take any notice of rumors.”

  “I don’t take any notice of rumors either. I wasn’t talking about a rumor.” Prosperity blinked balefully in the face of Meghan’s outraged glare. “What?”

  “I genuinely care about Jeremy, regardless of what you think.” Meghan fiddled with the charm on her bangle. “He’s a very misunderstood person.”

  “Well, we need to blame his parents for that.” Prosperity shut her laptop again, patently aware that she wasn’t going to get any work done now.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say! You haven’t a clue about Jeremy’s childhood.” Meghan looked ready to spit.

  “I didn’t say anything about his childhood. I merely said that he has his parents to blame for naming him Jeremy. Everyone knows that Jeremys are terrible communicators, spend too much time in their own heads, and usually have an Oedipus complex. Hmmm, on second thoughts maybe we should go ahead and blame his mother.”

  “Huh?”

  Prosperity watched her joke sail over Meghan’s head and into the wild blue yonder.

  “Don’t worry. Besides, I think Professor Leigh is a perfectly nice man even if he is a little absent-minded.”

  She should’ve expected her attempt at wit to go over Meghan’s head. According to the guidelines of Serendipity’s careful teachings, Meghans tended to be slow on the uptake, a little too literal for their own good, and prone to flights of fancy.

  Meghan chewed on her lip. “He does talk about his Mom a lot.”

  “How lovely.”

  Meghan appeared to have grown tired of talking about men and changed the subject. “I was wondering … now that you have your foot in the door at the P.D., what do you think my chances are of landing a job there once I graduate?”

  “Errrrr, I really couldn’t say.” Prosperity smiled brightly, knowing all too well that Meghans were also very clever at getting whatever they wanted out of life by using whatever devious means necessary.

  “Could you put in a good word for me? I’d love to land myself a cushy number like you,” she said without a hint of irony.

  “Of course!” Prosperity picked up her pencil and made a show of writing on the bottom of the page of notes. “Note to self—Put In Good Word For Meghan at P.D.”

  “Why do I sometimes get the idea that
you’re making fun of me?”

  Prosperity innocently widened her eyes. “I really have no idea why you would think that.”

  Meghan stared at Prosperity for several beats, apparently trying to decide if Prosperity was making fun of her now.

  “Thanks for the notes,” she said at last.

  She stuffed the papers into her bag and huffed away.

  Prosperity checked the time on her phone. She still had fifteen minutes until her next class, just enough time to put in a call to Mish Talbot. She was interested to know if he’d left the island, and perhaps she might discover why he’d acted so strangely when she saw him at the beach. She found his business card and dialed his personal number, half-expecting to hear it go to the voicemail message. However, Mish picked up after only a couple of rings.

  “Mission Talbot.”

  “Hi Mish. It’s Prosperity. Where are you? Are you still on Martha’s Vineyard?” She kept her voice upbeat and friendly, using a tone that invited confidence and conversation.

  “Who wants to know?” He was guarded now and Prosperity noticed he hadn’t bothered to offer her a friendly greeting in return.

  “I’m not checking up on you,” she lied. “I was just wondering if you’re still out here. I thought we could catch up for a drink or a meal if you’ve extended your stay.”

  “Um, yeah. I’m still here. Me and Joey are still here. My next few days are looking busy though. I’m not sure if I’ll have the time to see you.”

  “Never mind. You have my number. Give me a call if a free space comes up in your schedule, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He abruptly hung up, leaving Prosperity staring thoughtfully at her phone. Again, she had the frustrating sense that something important was lurking just outside her grasp. Perhaps she just hadn’t asked the right questions. She swung her bag strap up onto her shoulder and left the library to go to her next class, annoyed that she couldn’t seem to put her finger on what was undoubtedly the missing link.

  18

  Bruiser Rump

  Officer Ryley was waiting in Prosperity’s office when she turned up at work on Tuesday. She stifled her groan when she saw him—she’d forgotten all about the lunchroom thief and had planned to dive straight into the Ophelia case.

  “Hi, Ryley! I’m hoping that you’re here to tell me some good news.”

  Somehow, she didn’t think this was the case, not if she was to judge his answer by his glum expression.

  “No. Stores were all out of the purple dye and my meatloaf went missing yesterday. I’ve just checked and my mac & cheese is still there today, but I don’t know how long it’ll stay safe.”

  “Have you considered another solution to stop the thefts, even if the solution isn’t designed to catch the thief? You could bring a cooler bag to store your lunch in and bypass the lunchroom refrigerator altogether. The thief would soon grow bored if faced with an empty refrigerator each day.”

  “That’s not the point, Prosperity.”

  “I know it’s not the point. I was just trying to be helpful. I know how much you look forward to your lunch each day.” She dropped her bag on her desk and switched on her computer, determined not to let the mysterious but irrelevant case of the lunch thief distract her from her work once again.

  “Reuben said—”

  “I don’t care what Ruby said,” Prosperity snapped. “If his lunch is so important to him then let him be the person in charge of solving the crime. Where is he, anyway? Is he in today? I need to have a word with him.”

  “I haven’t seen him.” Ryley made no move to leave her office and stood gazing at her now like a little lost puppy. “I don’t know if you understand how serious this is.”

  “Oh, I know how serious it is. Just this morning on my way to the office I said to myself Prosperity Spartanburg, you make sure you keep your priorities straight. We haven’t found Ophelia Rump’s killer yet and there is a sadistic murderer walking free on the island, but you need to put all of that aside until you’ve found Officer Ryley’s missing lunch.”

  She sat down at her desk and began to type.

  “When Reuben turns up, tell him that he needs to pull his men off the fraud case, too. The entire force should be tracking down your lunch. There’s just no excuse for anyone wasting their time on anything else.” She stopped typing and reached for her desk phone. “Actually, it’s probably time we called in the big guns. Do we have a direct line to the FBI?”

  Ryley made a small, guttural sound and shuffled quickly out the door, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. Prosperity hid her giggle behind her hand as she signed into her email account. Yes, she had some sympathy for Ryley and his pilfered meals but she was here in the office today to make inroads into the Rump investigation. So far, they had a dearth of seemingly unrelated clues yet nothing substantial. If she could find just two inter-connected points, she would be happy. Sure, the traces of Ecstasy in Ophelia’s system might link to her ECSTATIC tattoo but then again, they might not. The Clutch Cargo note might be a vague reference to spinners, but which kind of spinners and why. It was all too tenuous at this stage and she didn’t have anything she could pin to a board and brag about.

  She left her desk, suddenly craving a cup of hot, strong coffee. Everyone knew that caffeine fired up the brain, although the beverage had been frowned upon back in her family home in Arcata. Both Serendipity and Rolling Stone, despite being staunch vegetarians, were united in their belief that a drink made from a bunch of ground-up beans couldn’t possibly be good for anyone. They’d not seen any irony in this philosophy, given that they both bowed down to the mighty marijuana leaf as a panacea of everything that could trouble a soul, and flatly refused to shift their standpoint. However, Prosperity had quickly developed a taste for the supposed devil’s drink since leaving home and she had no doubt there was always a time and place for coffee in her life.

  She wandered down the corridor to the lunchroom, wondering where Ruby could be. They hadn’t spoken since saying their goodbyes at the ice arena parking lot and she had told him that she hoped to make it into the office today. She liked to think he’d make a point of being around when she planned on spending a day at her desk, but maybe she was kidding herself.

  The lunchroom door was ajar when she reached it and she was about to push it open when she caught sight of a familiar Kelly green uniform. Martha’s Maids, a company she’d once worked for as a cleaner herself, had also been their main rival during the disastrous reign of Galloping Maids. She’d know that uniform anywhere. She pressed one eye up close to the gap in the door to peek, wondering why a cleaner would be working at the department during business hours. Cleaners of corporate premises generally kept the same hours as vampires.

  The maid had her back to the door and from her vantage point, Prosperity could see that she was industriously removing everything she could get her hands on from the refrigerator and stuffing it into a large, black knapsack by her feet. As Prosperity watched with incredulous and increasing fascination, she pulled out one of Ryley’s distinctive pink floral containers from his Mom’s kitchen range and added it to the other food containers already in her bag.

  Prosperity shoved open the door and rushed into the room. “Gotcha! I knew the thief couldn’t be a police department employee! Wait until your boss at Martha’s hears about this!”

  The woman still had her back to Prosperity and it seemed Prosperity’s rushed entrance had frozen her to the spot. Prosperity put her hands on her hips and glared at the back of her head.

  “Show your face. I caught you red-handed and you’re just lucky it wasn’t purple-handed. Turn around so I can see you.”

  The maid slowly turned, his thick-lensed glasses reflecting the light from inside the open refrigerator, and Prosperity gasped in shock as his identity registered. “Terry? Terry! What are you doing?”

  Terry the lab tech gave her a sickly smile and pulled bashfully at the hem of his short Martha’s Maid uniform. “Uh, hi. Would
you believe I was swabbing the refrigerator shelves for traces of e-coli?”

  “No. I wouldn’t believe it.” She stared down at the bag full of stolen goods, clear evidence of his guilt. “You’re the person who’s been stealing everyone’s lunch! Terry, how could you?”

  She again eyed his bizarre choice of attire.

  “And why the maid’s dress?”

  Terry’s knees gave way and he physically sagged, only managing to prevent himself from hitting the floor by grabbing hold of the lower shelf of the refrigerator. “I’m sorry. I just … I have to have the food. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I can overlook the dress—I have to say it fits you perfectly—but what are you doing with all that food?! You must’ve heard your colleagues complaining about their missing lunches. You know what you’re doing is wrong.”

  “Yes, I know it’s wrong but I have a lot of cats to feed. At least twenty.”

  “Um … aren’t you paid well enough here?”

  “It’s not the cost, it’s just that they prefer home-baked.”

  Prosperity could understand this. Rolling Stone had said the same thing on numerous occasions. However, Terry seemed to be missing the point.

  “You could’ve asked. I’m sure you could’ve found volunteers if you’d only asked. Too many fine, upstanding members of the police force have gone hungry due to your kitties’ predilections.”

  “I heard the commotion. What’s going on?” Ryley strode into the lunchroom and came to a grinding halt when he saw the macabre scene in front of him. “What the blue blazes?”

  “We’ve found our lunch thief. Terry has admitted everything.”

  A nervous tick appeared over Terry’s left eyebrow. “You’re not going to report me, are you?”

  Ryley, with a grin that reached from one ear to the other, looked like the cat with the cream as he clapped an uncompromising hand on Terry’s shoulder and picked up the knapsack with the other.