Viv kept her head as Cricket maneuvered her way along the corridors.
The distinct navy-blue floor covering with the wave logo had shifted to a faded and thin gold carpet. There were gaps between the carpet squares; some had been unevenly stitched back together. Have we made it to the staff side?
Loud laughter met Viv's ears.
Cricket pulled her to the side. "Come this way." She ducked behind a food service counter. Lifting a company blue apron off a peg rack, she handed it to Viv. "Put on the apron and you'll look like you work here."
Viv objected. "But I'm in black and staff wears navy blue. It won't work."
"Trust me, they're too busy to see the difference. So long as you don't look like a passenger, everything will be fine."
Viv wanted to disagree. But then she knew Cricket was her only chance to look inside the morgue.
Cricket reached for a hairnet from a box as Viv slipped on the apron. "Put this over your hair," Cricket instructed. "The morgue shares a wall with the kitchen. Let's head there."
Hairnet in place, Viv turned toward the kitchen. "Let’s walk side by side," Cricket hissed in her ear. "Make conversation and avert your face."
Viv did as she was told. As they weaved their way in and out of the crowded dining room she asked, "Why are you doing this anyway, helping me find Rex?"
"I knew the other mentalist, the one Rex is replacing." Cricket's voice was barely audible over the din of voices. Viv leaned closer as she continued. "Jon Jon was a nice guy too. We got along and worked…closely together. When he didn't show up for work, I was devastated. So I've been keeping an eye out for Rex." Her voice dropped to a hush. "I didn't know he was attached to a passenger," she explained apologetically.
Viv felt confused. "Do you mean you got along with Jon Jon as in sleeping with him?"
Cricket flushed. "We were an item on the previous cruise. I was worried, you know, when he didn't show up on this one because he'd already texted me his room number and I thought I'd be his girlfriend."
"His girlfriend?"
"Just for the week. It happens all the time. Employees and staff. We hook up with someone and have a fling and then it's over. Off we go to the next cruise. But the San Diego to Honolulu route is different than the others. The ship is at sea and doesn't make any port stops until we get to Pearl Harbor. Not everyone likes that. So a lot of the same staff get recruited again and again."
"Move aside," a man in front called out. "We've got an event and we're late." He rolled a wheeled cart with various serving utensils and burners past Viv, who kept her head low. He was followed by two more employees with small carts that carried plates and piles of utensils wrapped in napkins.
"Where are they going in such a hurry?" Viv asked.
"Oh, it's the memorial for that crazy woman. The one who carries around her father's ashes. She kept inviting more people to see the dumping of the ashes. Cremains. That's what they call them."
Viv gave her a sideways glance.
Cricket continued, "After they release the ashes, they'll have a reception with a ton of food."
"I told Sandi I'd be there," Viv muttered. "And I think I should honor that commitment. Even if it is a cruise, one doesn't forget to pay their respects."
"Here's the kitchen." Cricket nodded. "I'll go first. We'll walk through to the far side and then meet up in the hallway. Ready?"
She walked through the swinging door before Viv could answer.
The clang of pots and pans combined with voices shouting and water rushing into the sink made talking nearly impossible. Viv felt fairly certain she'd not be recognized because everyone was so intent on their job.
She looked over as Cricket disappeared out the exit. Viv followed, relieved when the door closed behind her. "That's loud in there," she told Cricket.
"Kitchens aren't peaceful on a ship," she explained. "We're heading over there."
Cricket took a key card from her pocket. She tapped the pad and opened the door. "You go first," she offered.
Viv stepped inside as the door closed behind her. She turned to speak to Cricket. All she saw was the door closing because Cricket had disappeared.
Viv tried the door handle, but it didn't budge. Then voices from the hallway interrupted.
"Plans have changed. We're going to do the dump sooner than we thought." The man sounded impatient.
"I want no part of…" Cricket whined.
“Be quiet. She can hear us. Come on. We can talk somewhere else."
Viv tried the door handle again, then she gave it a yank. Releasing the handle, she stared at her red fingers. In frustration, she gave the door a kick.
Not one to give up easily, she wrapped both hands around the handle, pulling as she leaned backward. I need a key card to get out of here. And Cricket took it with her.
With a groan, Viv stared at her red palms.
Turning to face the room, her eyes stopped on a blue tarpaulin bag stretched over a stainless-steel table. "Oh no," she groaned. There was a zipper down one side.
Viv shuddered. Is that what I think it is?
She inhaled deeply to calm her nerves. Stepping closer, she realized the bag was not empty. Something or someone had been stuffed inside.
Viv turned away to compose herself.
He can't be dead. That would be so unfair.
It took several minutes for Viv to gather the courage to approach the table and inspect the bag further. It's better to know the truth than to back away, she told herself. If Rex is in that bag, I need to know now.
She ran her hands over the outside. To her relief it didn't feel like a body. She tugged at the zipper to peel back the top. The flowery scent of dryer sheets hit her nostrils. She looked inside and concluded that this was somebody's laundry bag.
First thing out of the bag was a rumpled sports coat. Viv held it in front of her with a good shake. Rex wouldn't be caught dead in one of these. She felt a nervous giggle in the back of her throat.
Caught dead. Very funny. Holding her hand over her mouth, she realized she was at the point of hysteria. Stop giggling. You're acting really stupid right now. There's nothing funny about a bunch of clean laundry in a body bag. Laughter erupted, coming out in big guffaws, as tears ran down her cheeks.
Get ahold of yourself, Viv! Her fingers began to examine the jacket. So many pockets, she thought. Four on the outside and another four on the inside.
I've seen these in catalogues and on TV. “For the discerning traveler,” she mimicked the voice from the advertisement in her head. Shoving her hand inside the first front pocket, she held up a clip-on bow tie.
Not Rex's style. Her lips began to quiver again as anxious laughter threatened. I can't imagine him wearing anything like this.
She removed a white handkerchief from another pocket. It had been folded neatly into a square. She set it on the table next to the bow tie and then patted the other outside pockets. Nothing in those, she concluded.
Finally she turned over the button side of the jacket to check the inside pocket. She reached in and held up her find. Extending one finger, a pair of delicate women's panties unfolded in front of her eyes.
She held them in her fingers feeling the silk against her skin. You'd have to hand-wash these; I bet they cost a fortune.
Viv took a closer look at the lace construction. She ran her finger along the delicate fabric. Liquid gold. So luxurious.
Her cheeks grew hot. I'm standing here in the morgue, playing with someone else's underpants. If Cricket were to return right now, how would I explain?
Viv dropped the panties on the table.
Do they even belong to a woman? she pondered. Maybe the person who wore that jacket liked to wear lacy things themselves.
Viv knew there were men who liked dressing in women's undergarments. She really had no opinion about that one way or another. She picked up the panties again to run her finger over the waistband. She turned the elastic over. On the back band, she saw embroidery.
"Sunday," she read aloud. A day of the week. Very odd. She released the panties onto the metal table again to keep rummaging in the bag, pulling out more small items as she found them.
Observing her collection, she counted. Five white handkerchiefs and six pairs of men's underwear, three blue and three bright green. The kind made out of recycled water bottles with a special sling-like pocket in the front.
For his… Viv blushed. What ever happened to the old-fashioned white cotton undies or boxer shorts?
Why would someone put clothing in a body bag?
A series of raps startled her. Viv turned to look toward the door.
She called out. "Cricket, is that you?"
The door handle twisted.
"You have a lot of nerve, trapping me in here," Viv said loudly.
Then Viv heard the keypad beep. When the door opened, she gasped.
A familiar man stepped inside and shoved the door closed behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Viv demanded.
He stepped closer and raised his hand, clamping it over her mouth.