Finding Prosperity Read online

  Finding Prosperity

  The Prosperity Spartanburg Files

  David Berens

  Cherie Mitchell

  Contents

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  Prologue

  1. Prosperity Found

  2. Premium Clean

  3. Serendipity And Rolling Stone

  4. No Quick Moves

  5. A Job Offer

  Afterword

  I. SOME BEACH

  1. Quiet Vineyard Haven

  2. Prosperity Returns

  3. Room To Room

  Also by David Berens

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  Prologue

  Prosperity Spartanburg was pissed. She dropped her rag and spray bottle and dialed 911. She wondered if the dispatcher knew her by name. The weight of the thick roll of bills weighed heavy in her pocket as she waited for the connection.

  “911 can you please hold?”

  “No, no, no I—.”

  But the woman had already closed the line. Prosperity paced around the hotel room, wondering if it was even legal for an emergency dispatcher to put a caller on hold. They had probably seen her number on the caller I.D. Had she become the proverbial “girl crying wolf?”

  She waited a couple of minutes, but then hung up and redialed. Most people probably go their whole lives without discovering a dead body. Not me, though. No, I’ve got to find them all. She waited for the line to connect and didn’t bother to chitchat.

  “Dead body,” she said, before the woman could put her on hold again. “Got a dead body here.”

  The images of everything that had happened in that wretched Airbnb cellar all those months ago flashed in front of her as she waited for the dispatcher to respond. At least this time she wasn’t a prisoner in the room with the body.

  “Prosperity? Is that you?” the woman on the line asked.

  “Yep. It’s me.”

  “And you say there’s a dead body?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes. Again.”

  The woman chuckled and Prosperity thought that was a very dark thing for her to do. “How do you keep winding up in these situations, girl?”

  Prosperity thought back to the guy walking into the store. “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “Well, why don’t you tell it to me while you wait for the officers to get there?”

  Prosperity sighed and started at the beginning.

  1

  Prosperity Found

  It was just a day ago when Prosperity Spartanburg heard the bell above the door tinkle merrily as someone entered the front office of Galloping Maids and she groaned. She had been in the middle of removing her smock and had accidentally grabbed her dress along with it. With her clothes now half over her head and only a brief pair of panties protecting her from revealing all to the new arrival, her current position was nothing short of compromising and there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it. She tugged and yanked at her dress, but it refused to do her bidding. Whoever had walked in was getting a show for sure. She finally discovered her dress had gotten stuck on something—the clip holding her ponytail in place. She jerked it free from her hair and the dress fell down to cover her—mostly.

  Prosperity yanked the hem of her dress the rest of the way down over her butt with her left hand, readjusted her hair, kicked her discarded cleaning smock out of the way, and strode confidently over to the desk.

  “Welcome to Galloping Maids. What can I help you with today?”

  At first, her customer seemed more shaken by the episode than she was, keeping his eyes fixed on a spot just above her head as if he thought she might be about to accuse him of a multitude of Peeping Tom-isms.

  “I uh … I was um … I was hoping to book your services. Found myself with a bit of an unexpected mess to deal with.”

  “Any mess dealt with in double quick time.” She recited the company motto and pointed to the prices listed on the sign behind her.

  She wasn’t as fond of the motto as her business partner T.J. Gallop was, just as she wasn’t as fond of the business name, but as he’d kept the company afloat over the past year with regular infusions of cash she wasn’t in any position to quibble. Still, Galloping Maids sounded too cutesy to her for what was supposed to be a reputable, respectable business. She’d argued long and hard for the name she wanted when they first formed the company – Spartan Services – but that argument had nearly dissolved into a full on brawl. T.J. reminded her he was fronting the money to start the business and the decision was made. Anyway, that old argument was all bygones now, as was her and T.J.’s once budding relationship. She remembered something her mama always said about never going into business with friends. Lesson learned. Unfortunately, the entire company would also be bygones unless business picked up soon.

  The newcomer finally met her eye. She could see at once that he was one of those shifty types—nefarious even. He was narrow-eyed, fidgety and restless, and seemed to be the kind who was perpetually on the lookout for the next job. Definitely, a wannabe gangster with murky morals. Prosperity had developed a knack for reading people’s faces, and their dirty laundry, through the long hours she’d spent cleaning and she was beginning to discover that she wasn’t often wrong in her assumptions.

  “I’ll need the premium service. Cost ain’t an issue.” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a big roll of cash—mostly hundreds from what she could see. “I need it done today.”

  “Sorry, but that won’t be possible. I’ve just finished the last job of the day and I was about to lock up when you came in.” She was already flipping through the bookings ledger on the counter, grimly aware that there were plenty of free spaces. “Tomorrow at 1?”

  “Today,” he said flatly. He leaned his elbows on the counter and thrust his face close to hers, his eyes glinting dangerously. “I’m willing to pay overtime rates.”

  “Well, um...” Silently cursing T.J. for bailing on her early today so he could go fishing, and reeling from the cheesy stench of the man’s breath.

  Prosperity took a step back, scanning the store lobby. The door was still open behind Mr. Congeniality and she was quick on her feet. Little Prosperity Spartanburg, age nine, had once won the coveted Eagle Trophy at Eagle Heights School for her winning the one-hundred-yard dash. It still smarted that she hadn’t won the top prize, the Dolphin Trophy, but she never had been a strong swimmer. She laughingly used to tell her friends that Prosperity was never meant to be diluted with water. However, she was proud to say to anyone who cared to listen that today she was still as agile and fleet-footed as she was back then.

  She could leap over the counter and bolt for the door before this lowlife had a chance to make a grab for her. Past experience had taught her that it was always better to be safe than sorry. As if reading her thoughts, the customer hastily dropped another roll of banknotes on the counter and changed tactics.

  “Go on. I ain’t gonna stop ya. But I’m betting you’ll make a day’s wages for a couple of hours of work.” He dragged his shifty gaze over the sparsely furnished office space before amending his comment with a knowing smirk. “Maybe a week’s wages.”

&
nbsp; Prosperity felt her resolve begin to crumble. Money was short this week, as it was most weeks, and it wasn’t as if she had anything planned for her evening with T.J. out on the boat. This would take her a couple of hours tops and the overtime rates this guy was apparently paying certainly sweetened the deal.

  He’d seen her indecision and he immediately used it to his advantage. He slid a motel key across the counter to join the rolls of cash.

  “Unit 3, Seabreeze Motels. I don’t want to lose my bond by leaving it looking so rough. Tidy it up before the motel cleaners go through.” He winked at her as he turned away. “I’ll add a tip. The next time you take off your smock, ya might want to head into the back room or something. Or maybe your next clients will pay you in folded singles.”

  “Oh, you saw that?” Prosperity laughed nervously.

  He flashed a peace sign and put on an Austin Powers accent. “Yeah, baby, yeah.”

  Prosperity blushed furiously as the door banged shut behind him. She marched over to turn the key in the lock and yank down the blinds before lifting the edge of one to peer out at the parking lot. Her new friend was just leaving, roaring away in a black SUV with the license plate partially obscured by… what? She squinted after the vehicle, trying to make out what it was hanging out of the trunk to cover the plate. A red-stained cloth? A scarf or bandanna? Too late, he was gone.

  She dropped the blinds down and walked back to count the notes that he’d left behind. The money would certainly be useful but it wasn’t nearly enough to save what was rapidly becoming a disastrous and unsalvageable business venture. She and T.J. had such high hopes and dreams when they started out. They’d been optimistically certain that there was very little standing between them and career success but it drifted into drudgery and despair. One failure had followed another, from broken contracts, to stolen equipment, to ill-chosen and disloyal employees. T.J. had rapidly lost any interest he might’ve had to begin with, especially as it was he who was now keeping the business afloat with his own money though not his physical presence. The source of his money was still a little unclear to Prosperity, but he’d murmured something about his mother and her twin sister coming into a bit of luck and passing it on to their adored son and nephew. She knew a little about Daisy Mae and Ellie Mae Gallop and what she did know was shady at best.

  The thing is, Prosperity would’ve been more than happy to help out with the finances. If she had any, that is. The problem was, making ends meet wasn’t always that easy. Her own career path to date had been dodgy to say the least. Her previous roles included her stint behind the bar at the Tail Spinner Strip Club—she shivered just thinking about that whole experience—and a short time spent working for Martha’s Maids, who were now their chief competitor and were rapidly winning the race. On top of juggling those dead end jobs, she’d studied Funeral Services at Cape Cod Community College until she dropped out to start up Galloping Maids with T.J. She’d made some big life decisions over the past few years and it was a darn shame that not all of them had worked out as she’d hoped. None of them had worked out as she’d hoped, dammit.

  Sighing at the blatant unfairness of it all, she took a clean smock from the laundry bag behind the counter and pulled her dress over her head once more. She’d drive over to the Seabreeze, do the two-hour Premium Clean, and then maybe she’d take a walk on the beach. Clear her head and attempt to sort out what it was that she wanted out of life. “Open your arms and let the good times walk in,” as her mama always used to say.

  Her phone rang as she pulled her battered Beetle up outside the dubious-looking Seabreeze Motels, a concrete block construction with peeling paint that was more likely to capture the diesel fumes of the nearby highway than it was to feel any kind of sea breeze. It was T.J. She opened her mouth to tell him about the late booking but he didn’t give her a chance, instead launching into a long, drawled out speech about how the business just wasn’t working for him. Not enough money. Long hours. He’d said all these things before. She wondered what had set him back on this path while he was fishing.

  “T.J.” She managed to interrupt him at last when he paused to draw a breath. “Can this wait? It’s not as if I don’t already know all of this. I just got a late booking for a Premium Clean and I’m about to walk into the unit.”

  She didn’t mention the over payment. There was plenty of time for that if T.J. ever bothered to show up in the office again.

  He exhaled and she could picture him now, perched on a wharf somewhere with his skinny legs swinging above the water as he sighed down the phone line. Maybe a wadded-up burger wrapper that earlier contained one of Fat Ronnie’s finest might lie on the weathered, sun-warmed planks beside him. An empty beer can or two would likely be scattered around him. Her stomach grumbled. How long had it been since she’d eaten? She’d grabbed an energy drink in lieu of breakfast, she remembered that much.

  “Nope. No can do. We gotta hash this out now and it can’t wait. I’m calling it, Prosperity. As of now, Galloping Maids is permanently closed. We gave it a shot, it didn’t work out, and it’s time for us to shake hands and leave while we’re still friends.”

  Prosperity was stunned. What? What the heck is he talking about?

  “That’s not enough notice! T.J., give me a break. You can’t just drop it on me like that.”

  “Sorry.” She heard him slurp and swallow, no doubt starting on his second or third beer.

  “What am I supposed to do for work? For money? What about …?” She was going to ask what about us, but she left it unspoken.

  “Why don’t you keep the money for the Premium Clean yer doin’,” he said. “That should tide you over until something else comes along.”

  “Gee, thanks, T.J.” she said, fighting the tears.

  Infuriating man. There was a time when she thought they might grow into more than friends, more than business partners. That time was gone. She ended the call and tossed her phone onto the seat beside her. Of course she had expected this, but she thought she might’ve had a bit more time up her sleeve. The two rolls of banknotes, while adequate enough to keep her going for a short time, would soon be gone and then what? She grabbed her basket of cleaning products out of the back of the car and stomped toward the door, furious with the world in general and with T.J. in particular.

  She unlocked Unit 3 with the key the man had left her and kicked the door open with her foot, cursing as she stubbed her toe. At least unbridled anger was an excellent propellant for doing quick and efficient work – she would get this job finished and then she would get herself out of here. She dumped the basket on the table, wrinkling her nose at the coppery, musty smell inside the room. The place was a pigsty. Chairs lay overturned on the floor, the bedsheets sat crumpled in a heap on the end of the bed, and ashtrays, empty cans, and glasses lay strewn over the counter and carpet. The bathroom door was ajar with the light on inside and Prosperity pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and wandered over, determined to start with what was bound to be the worst part first.

  She stuck her head around the door and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her scream. A body well overdue for his trip to the morgue lay in the tub.

  “Why am I the one finding all the dead bodies around here?” she groaned.

  2

  Premium Clean

  “What do you mean, there isn’t a space for me? How many people do you have queuing up for the Funeral Services course?” She made a show of looking over her shoulder at the invisible crowds of candidates behind her. “I’m partway through the program. Sign me back up and I can get on with finishing what I started.” For once in my life.

  Discovering the battered corpse at the Seabreeze last evening, on top of T.J.’s news, had been the last straw for Prosperity. She knew without a doubt that Galloping Maids was dead in the water, she seemed to be coming up against endless sticky situations regardless of which way she turned, and the thought of sitting peacefully in class and getting her degree felt like the best option in the world r
ight now. As her mama always used to say, “If you can’t go forward you can only go back.”

  However, the old, gray battle-ax of a woman sitting under the Registrations sign in the admissions office clearly had no intention of going out of her way to be helpful. Her name tag was a plastic plate with stuck on letters. It read Mrs. Baxter. The “S” was peeling off so that it would soon read Mr. Baxter. Prosperity almost laughed.

  She glared at Prosperity, and pressed her lips together mutinously. “I’ll have to make a phone call. Take a seat.”

  Prosperity glared back at her to show that she wasn’t going anywhere until she received the answer she wanted before turning and walking over to the row of hard plastic chairs in front of the office. She crossed her arms across her chest and stared off into space, struggling to keep a lid on her irritation. She hadn’t factored this roadblock into her plans for the day but then again, it seemed that everything of late was conspiring against her. She slumped down in her chair and rolled her mind back to the events of yesterday evening, after her shocking discovery of the corpse in Unit 3.

  The terrified high school student minding the hotel reception kept repeating that her mother was going to kill her after Prosperity walked in to report the body and tell her to dial 911. The police arrived remarkably quickly, which was both a surprise and a comfort to Prosperity. By this time, the girl’s blousy, chain-smoking mother had returned and was demanding to know what was going on as the teenager cowered behind the counter and said she didn’t know anything.