Raising Prosperity Read online

  Raising Prosperity

  The Prosperity Spartanburg Files #1

  David Berens

  Cherie Mitchell

  Contents

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  1. Raspberry Beret

  2. Ophelia Floats

  3. Ecstatic Tattoo

  4. Mission Accomplished

  5. Icky Things

  6. Love Potion #9

  7. Moonbeam

  8. A Solid Spinner

  9. Purloined Lasagna

  10. Clutch Cargo

  11. Kombi Charm

  12. Cryptic Crosswords

  13. Charmed Life

  14. Pilfered Boysenberry

  15. Fight on the Ice

  16. Change of Plans

  17. A Good Word

  18. Bruiser Rump

  19. Bad Moon Rising

  20. Pig Iron

  21. Spinner McKee

  22. Cherry Cola

  23. Charmed, I’m Sure

  24. C.B

  25. High Grade Silver

  26. Ophelia’s Essence

  27. Mission Un-Accomplished

  28. The Message Behind

  29. Grandiose Yacht

  30. Do You Tattoo?

  31. Caught In The Act

  32. Hands Of A Lady

  33. Jaws Bridge

  Afterword

  Also by David Berens

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  For Olivia.

  The smartest, most beautiful little girl

  I’ve ever known.

  I love you right up to the moon and back.

  1

  Raspberry Beret

  Prosperity knew it was going to happen a split second before it did, but that didn’t make it any less of a shock. The sudden cold drenching felt like a slap to the face and to make matters worse, it seemed she’d made her crucial error in front of an audience.

  “Bad choices always make for the best stories. I’m eager to know the spectacularly bad choice lurking behind this captivating little tale.”

  Prosperity silently counted to three and pasted a smile on her face before turning around to respond to Blaine’s delighted comment. He was standing close, far too close, and she found herself doing a quick two-step to avoid stepping on his toes. He was wearing that smug, self-assured look that she’d come to recognize as pure, unadulterated, Blaine Kennedy. She kept her smile firmly where it was and made sure to keep her voice measured and even.

  “Can I help you, Blaine?”

  He snorted with amusement, his laugh a strangled gurgling sound in the back of his throat as he gazed down at her.

  “It looks to me as if you’re the one who needs the help.”

  Prosperity kept her head held high and her expression unruffled and tranquil, or at least as much as she was able to given the circumstances. As her mama Serendipity always used to say, “there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk,” or in this case, spilled raspberry drink. Intrigued by an experiment the professor of her last class had outlined to his students, Prosperity departed at the end of the lesson determined to try it out as soon as possible. Professor Leigh had spoken of using a substance similar to the consistency of human blood but the closest Prosperity could find, given the limitations of the campus, was the bottle of berry-flavored fruit drink that she’d coaxed the woman in the cafeteria to add to her ever-increasing tab.

  Unfortunately, just as she loosened the lid of the bottle, she’d tripped on an uneven concrete tile in the middle of the quad. Within seconds, a crimson cascade of sticky, red, factory manufactured berry juice coated her face and clothes. Even more unfortunately, Blaine had to be the person to come along as she stood there in all of her raspberry-drenched glory.

  Blaine, still grinning like a fool, reached out a finger to catch a drop of raspberry cordial as it made its ticklish way down her chin.

  “Are you going to tell me about the bad choice that led you to this moment? I’m in the right mood for a good story after the monotonous tedium of my business report writing class.”

  “Ha.”

  Prosperity thought quickly. What would her daddy, Rolling Stone Spartanburg, do in a situation like this? Other than roll himself a joint and kick back to watch the show, of course. Fake it till you make it, Prosperity!

  “We’re studying the effects of high sugar content liquids on the epidermis. Everyone knows the effect that highly concentrated, sugary drinks have internally but investigative studies are limited when it comes to the precise analysis of external effects and whether or not these effects are beneficial or detrimental to the human condition. I volunteered to act as the guinea pig on this particular occasion and I’ll be reporting back to the class tomorrow with my results. Do you have your phone on you, Blaine? If you want to help, I’d appreciate it if you could take a photo of Stage 1 of the experiment. Text the image to me and I’ll take it from there.”

  She stood stiffly, with her arms held out from her sides and her legs astride, and solemnly waited for Blaine to take the snap.

  “Done.” Blaine’s fingers flew across the keypad as he sent the photo on and she heard her phone ping from inside her bag with the sound of an incoming message. “You’re a good sport to take one for the team, Prosperity.”

  “I’m always prepared to do whatever it takes. As far as I’m concerned, anything is a reasonable request in the name of science, particularly if it relates to the greater good of mankind.”

  There was juice in her hair. She could feel it running down the back of her neck and tracking its way down her spine beneath the fabric of her thin summer dress. She clenched her buttocks experimentally, wondering if she could somehow stop the juice with a few athletic bodily contortions before it ran stickily down the backs of her legs.

  Blaine looked suitably impressed but it hadn’t taken Prosperity too long to realize that it didn’t take her much effort to impress Blaine Kennedy. Blaine, a volunteer firefighter for the Tisbury Fire Department, was studying Business Management, but he often sat in on some of the analytics lectures that she attended. He’d made his interest in her clear but for now, Prosperity was keeping him at arm’s length. Romance didn’t figure into her current plans, even if Blaine was built like a superhero and had once won an Eagle & Dolphin Cup for exceptional sportsmanship.

  “Where are you off to now? We could grab a coffee or a cocktail if you’ve finished for the day. Your choice, although I’m leaning more toward a cocktail. A Blue Lagoon would go down well.”

  Blaine raised his eyebrows and made the planes of his face genial and inviting. Blaine made no secret of the fact that he was a man who knew what he needed to do if he wanted to successfully woo a woman.

  “As I’ve just explained, I’m in the midst of an important experiment. I don’t have time for coffee or cocktails. See you later, Blaine.”

  She walked carefully away, tweaking her butt muscles with rhythmic precision to halt the insidious progress of the fruit drink while simultaneously ignoring Blaine’s long, low, appreciative whistle.

  She climbed into her VW Beetle and drove away from the campus, still musing on Professor Leigh’s experiment. Prosperity had quickly discovered that Forensic Pathology was her true calling. She loved everything about the subject and she had an almost unholy knack for investigations, ana
lytics, probing, and research. Her course work, along with her part time work for Martha’s Vineyard P.D., was a dream come true. She spun the wheel and turned the corner, laying her hand across her stomach as it grumbled and protested. The sweet scent of raspberries had awakened the sharp pinch of hunger pangs and her stomach again rumbled loudly. Sticky raspberry cordial covered her from head to foot and she knew she looked a fright but when the demanding voice of hunger called, that voice deserved an immediate answer.

  Her phone rang from inside her bag as she found a parking spot, and then again as she locked the car door. She strode across the pavement to the convenience store, choosing to ignore the strident, impatient tone. For now, hunger held precedence over whoever was trying to reach her. She stepped inside the store and hurried over to the cooler to grab a can of energy drink before detouring past the display stands and snatching up a bag of Cheetos, a Twinkie bar, and a pack of Rump’s Gum in Juicy Grape flavor. The gum company’s infectious jingle insinuated itself without invitation into her brain. “Pop-pop, a-bubble-o!” She carried her spoils over to the counter while the spotty-faced clerk watched on with bored disinterest. She scrabbled in her bag for her purse, pulling the top open and peering inside when she couldn’t find it. She finally remembered and applied an imaginary slap to her forehead. She’d taken it out to use her credit card for last night’s pizza delivery. She could picture her forgotten purse now, sitting in lonely solitude on the table back at her apartment.

  “Um. I don’t have my purse.” Her searching fingers probed the bottom of her bag, hopeful of finding a few loose coins scattered amongst the debris and flotsam of balled up tissues, old lipstick tubes, and used bus tickets.

  The clerk dragged his eyes insolently over her stained dress and unruly hair. “Of course you don’t.”

  “I’ve got some coins.” She counted out her meagre offering in her palm, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks as the man waiting behind her in the queue shuffled his feet and breathed noisily with ill-disguised impatience.

  “Next, please.” The clerk pushed her purchases to one side, blatantly dismissing her as if she were no more worthy of consideration than an annoying housefly.

  “Take back the Cheetos and the gum. I’ve got enough to pay for the rest.”

  She dropped her pile of coins onto the counter with as much dignity as she could muster and pushed the Twinkie bar and energy drink back under the clerk’s nose.

  The clerk’s top lip twitched and Prosperity could plainly see he was struggling to hold back a sneer. She glared at him to show him that she knew exactly what he was thinking just as her phone rang again.

  “Excuse me,” she said tightly, reaching into her bag as he picked up the coins with thin, fastidious fingers. “I really should take this. It’s probably important.”

  She met the clerk’s disdainful stare with her own chilly gaze as she hit the Answer Call button.

  “Prosperity Spartanburg, Forensic Pathologist.”

  Of course, she knew it was Ruby calling and he certainly knew that he’d called her, but there were times when a girl needed to announce her place in the world to the doubters, the naysayers, and the dollar store clerks. She kept her face composed into cool, professional lines as the clerk gave her a queasy smile and sidled away to serve the next customer.

  “Prosperity!” Ruby’s voice was harsh and urgent in her ear. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past hour. A body has just washed up on the beach at Menemsha. Get yourself down here as soon as you can.”

  2

  Ophelia Floats

  A sea water-drenched dead body is always a sad and miserable sight and the body of Ophelia Rump, heiress to the billion-dollar Rump Gum fortune, was no exception.

  “Pop-pop, a-bubble-o!” Ruby sang in a low voice as Prosperity stared down at the familiar face of a celebrity she couldn’t help but recognize from her numerous publicity shots and PR appearances. “Sorry, Prosperity. I can’t get that dadgum jingle out of my head.”

  She shook her head. “No biggie. They say a good jingle will stay with you for seven years.”

  Her lips curled into a sly smile and she wondered if anyone would appreciate her swallowed gum pun. No one seemed to catch it.

  “Mmmm. It’s just one of those tunes.”

  Prosperity squatted down beside the body, sniffing experimentally as she maneuvered herself closer. Was it her imagination or could she smell the faint whiff of strawberry gum? She’d wiped off the remains of the raspberry drink as best she could before driving out to the beach. She’d stopped at a public restroom and made use of the paper towels and faucets, and she’d found one of her old cleaning smocks from Galloping Maids in the back of the Beetle to change into. In her mind, raspberries and strawberries had distinctively different fragrances and she was positive that it was the scent of strawberries clinging to Ophelia’s sodden body.

  Ruby, or Detective Sergeant Reuben Jackson, esteemed member of the Martha’s Vineyard P.D. and the man who’d landed Prosperity her role in the Forensic Pathology Department, flipped open his notepad with his customary air of authority—at least when he was on the job.

  “Body discovered two hours ago by a woman beachcomber. No obvious sign of trauma to the face or head, but there is a small bruise on the left wrist. Only a cursory examination has been completed at this point and as the tide is still on its way out, we haven’t yet had to move the body.”

  “Okay. Coincidently, I saw Miss Rump on TV just the other evening. They were interviewing her about the company’s Exploding Bubbles phenomena.”

  Prosperity gazed at Ophelia’s pretty, plump-cheeked face, thinking she looked younger and more innocent than she did in her airbrushed publicity photos. Her eyes were closed and if it weren’t for the strands of seaweed in her hair and the deathly, ashen paleness of her skin, she might only be an heiress sleeping. A Sleeping Beauty taken too soon.

  “Yeah. My eight-year-old niece is addicted to the entire Exploding Bubbles line.” Reuben eyed Prosperity’s cleaning smock. “I thought you’d given up on the cleaning gig?”

  “Ah, yes. I had a small accident on the way here and I needed a change of clothes. This was all I had and beggars can’t be choosers. Rube, had you noticed that she isn’t wearing her charm bracelet?” Prosperity pointed to the purple bruise on Ophelia’s wrist. “She said in the TV interview that she never takes it off. Her daddy gave it to her on her sixteenth birthday and she adds a new, unique charm every year. It’s said to be worth millions.”

  “A possible motive?” Reuben scratched his pen across his page. “Then again, she might’ve taken it off herself. I’ve already sent a team to search her holiday home. The family owns a property over at Oak Bluffs, one of the famous gingerbread cottages from what I’ve heard.”

  Prosperity nodded. She’d cleaned at some of the gingerbread cottages when working as a maid for both Martha’s Maids and Galloping Maids. The quaint houses, once used as Methodist camp meeting houses, looked like adorable storybook dwellings the likes of which would tempt any wandering Hansel and Gretel to come on inside. They were all privately owned now and popular rentals for many of the island’s wealthy summer inhabitants. She bent her head close to the fully clothed body once more and took another deep sniff. Definitely strawberries.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can you smell that? The strawberry scent.”

  Reuben inhaled deeply through his sizable nose, one of his most prominent and recognizable features and one that sat well alongside the handsome, strong lines of his face.

  “Vaguely. Smells like bubblegum.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Detective Jackson? The paramedics are asking when you’ll need the gurney.” Officer Ryley, Reuben’s baby-faced young assistant, hovered nervously.

  “Give us a few more minutes, Ryley. Prosperity is still completing her scene assessment.” Reuben began to hum the Rump Gum jingle again, providing a melodic backdrop to Prosp
erity’s thoughts.

  Prosperity sat back on her haunches and gazed across the lapping waves. This spot, with its panoramic views of Cuttyhunk and the other Elizabeth islands was a popular place to watch the glorious sunsets. Prosperity herself had watched many a lovely sunset from here. On a few occasions, she’d watched the sinking amber rays with an interesting companion, a bottle of wine, and a meal of freshly battered fish purchased from the numerous seafood shops that catered to the beach visitors. Well, her companion ate the fish while she nibbled on fries. Prosperity had never developed a real taste for fish.

  However, that was another time and place, and with far more pleasant connotations. Right now, Prosperity could see that the outgoing tide had erased all traces and imprints from the sand, the sea snatching away any clues to leave behind a blank, anonymous slate. Prosperity glanced behind her, beyond the fluttering yellow and black police tape and past the group of gawking onlookers. The sand further up the shore bore a multitude of pockmarks from the footsteps of a hundred or more beachgoers. It was impossible to judge whether Ophelia had entered the water here at Menemsha Public Beach or from some other beach on the island.

  “Do you have today’s tide schedules, Reuben? Can we tell which current might have carried her here if she didn’t walk into the water at this point?”