Authors: Lance Zarimba
Sergio walked over to his discarded box and asked, “Where do you want the corn flakes?"
Mike set the whisk down and wiped his hands on his shorts. “I'll get the milk and you can set them out in the dining room to get some of the people started."
John walked in a few minutes later. After twisting his long hair into a hairnet, he helped Sergio carry the food out to the dining room. As soon as one left the kitchen, the other returned with an empty pan, ready to be refilled.
The next few hours passed in a blur of eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, and dry cereal.
We did have the chance to grab a bite of this and a bite of that as we cooked, and I was even able to finally eat something, since I was sure it was safe.
After the rush was over, we sat in the kitchen and looked at the piles of dirty dishes and utensils, not quite sure where to start cleaning up the mess. The lights flickered on and off a few times and then remained on.
A chorus of “Yeahs” echoed from the dining hall.
"Finally,” Mike said.
"I'm not washing dishes, if that's what you're thinking,” Sergio said, as if reading my mind.
As I stood up to start filling the sink with hot water, five plump Mexican women walked into the kitchen. Each one grabbed an apron off the hooks on the wall, at least what was left of it, and started cleaning up our mess.
"We're saved! Help has arrived!” Sergio pulled off his apron and threw it on the countertop. “I'm outta here.” He turned to me. “Are you coming Taylor?"
Before I could answer, Geoff walked in. “I hear you've been busy."
"If you only knew,” Mike huffed. “By the way, where have you been? We could've used your help a while ago."
Geoff's expression was blank. “I've been checking the damage, mon."
"I think feeding the guests is more important, don't you? I doubt they've had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday."
Geoff's head ticked slightly to the left, but he said nothing.
"Oh, I almost forgot,” Mike said. “We found a boot in the basement. I think you should check it out."
"A boot?” Geoff asked.
Mike pointed to Sergio and me. “They found it in that water hole at the end of the tunnel. Do you know anything about that?"
Geoff pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. Finally, he asked, “Where's this boot?"
Mike sat up straight in his chair, but before he could rise, I walked to the stove. “I'm up. I'll go get it,” I said to Mike.
He tried to protest, but I didn't give him a chance. I walked through the new kitchen crew, rounded the stove, and ignored the walk-in cooler's door, which still beckoned to me. As I entered the small entryway to the basement door, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The boot was gone.
The flashlight was still in the same place Mike left it, but the boot was gone. A faint outline of the boot's tread was barely visible. Our only proof had evaporated, as if it hadn't been there at all.
I walked back to Geoff. Shrugging my shoulders and turning my hands palm up, I said, “It's gone."
"What?” Mike and Geoff said at the same time. Both men pushed up from their chairs and rushed through the kitchen and behind the cooler.
"What's gone?” Tom asked, walking through the kitchen's swinging door. He stopped Geoff and Mike raced from their seats. He motioned to Sergio and me to come out into the dining area. “They told me you two were in here, cooking of all things.” A questioning smile played across his mouth as he tried to read our expressions. “I had to see that one for myself."
An unsettled feeling descended over me. Why did Tom always seem to show up just after something like this happened? Poor timing? Or had he taken the boot? Destroying evidence? Just a coincidence? Feeling suspicious about the people around me was really starting to drain all my energy. Or was it the heat from the kitchen?
Sergio walked up to me and rested his hand on my shoulder. “Come on. You need a break."
"But...” I started to protest, but Tom stepped to my other side and helped Sergio drag me from the kitchen.
"If they need you, they know where to look. It'll probably be weeks later, and we'll be home by then. At least I hope,” Sergio said, running his hand through his spiked hair. “Besides, I'm sure they can finish without you. You've done more than your share, and so have I for that matter.” He peeled his shirt away from his skin and crinkled up his face. “Mike had better come up with something great for us after all our blood, sweat, and tears."
Tom's eyes passed from me to Sergio. “How did he rope you two into helping in the kitchen? I can't say that you're the domestic types."
Sergio pursed his lips together tightly and let out a huff of air.
"Just kidding,” Tom held up his hands in surrender. “I see you as more the...the cosmopolitan type."
"I don't read
Cosmo
.” Sergio lowered his eyelashes. “We have it at the salon, but I just look at the pictures."
"Yeah. That's what they all say.” I smiled weakly.
Sergio huffed at me this time.
"So what did I just miss?” Tom pressed. “I feel like I walked in on the middle of something.” He led us to a vacant table in a back corner of the dining room. The breakfast crowd had thinned. Outside, a steady downpour of rain obscured the view of the beach.
"I could use a drink,” I said.
Tom popped up from his chair. “Since you guys made breakfast, allow me to get you something to drink.” He held his arm cocked like a butler on PBS. “What would you like?"
"Coffee for me,” Sergio said.
"A Pepsi would taste great about now.” I settled into the chair and doubted I would be able to get up again.
"Be back in a few.” Tom bowed curtly, clicked his heels together, and was gone.
"Are you going to tell him?” Sergio leaned across the table toward me.
"I don't know. We've told him everything else so far, why stop now? If we don't, he might get suspicious and think that we're hiding something."
"So? It's not like we've done anything wrong.” He paused for a moment. “Except breaking and entering, stealing evidence, losing evidence, withholding evidence, looting, pillaging. All we have to do now is add armed robbery, rape, and murder, and we'll have all the bases covered."
"You make me feel so proud of myself and my accomplishments, you know that?"
"I do what I can,” Sergio said and looked over his shoulder. “He's coming back."
Tom set our drinks down in front of us and placed one in front of himself. “Are you going to tell me what happened?"
Sergio took a long sip of his coffee and stood up. He pulled the shoulder of his shirt under his nose and sniffed. “Whew! I smell like a French fry after working in there.” His face scrunched up. “I have to go. Besides, I really want to take a shower, you know,” he motioned to the kitchen with his head, “after the...” He clawed his hands and made them crawl all over his chest. Leaning forward, he whispered to me, “Do you think we violated any health codes in there? You know, with... Las Cucarachas?"
Tom's tan complexion took on a pale, greenish hue, but he said nothing.
"I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure the Club Fred staff have broken more health codes than we have."
"Oh, goodie.” Sergio said and rubbed his hands together, heading off to our room.
I took a long drag on my pop. The cold, sweet flavor never tasted so good.
"Hey, go easy on that stuff so early in the morning.” When he didn't see me smile, he tried another way. “I heard a lot of compliments about the food. Do you know who cooked? They said it was the best meal they've eaten since they had gotten to this resort."
"It was probably just the munchies after the all-day drinking binge they had yesterday, followed by no food for over twenty-four hours."
"No. It was good. I even had seconds, and I never have seconds.” He patted his stomach. “I have to watch my figure, or no one else will."
A smiled played across my mouth. “I bet you had the fruit and corn flakes."
"Nope. Sausage and eggs. Did you cook them?"
I nodded.
"So what was missing from the kitchen?"
"It's a long story.” I took another drink from my pop.
"Isn't it always?” He motioned around the room, “Besides, it's not like there's anything better to do, right?"
As if in response to his question, the sky opened up, and torrential rains beat against the windows and ground.
I took a deep breath. “Sergio and I were hungry. In our search for food, Sergio got his arm stuck in a cupboard, but instead of finding food, we found cockroaches, millions of them. In his panic to get them off, Sergio slammed into me and we fell down the garbage chute."
Tom laughed and stuck out his tongue. “I'm sorry I asked."
"Oh, it gets better. While we were in the basement, we found a boot. A man's black leather boot."
"So?” Confusion showed on his face.
"I think it was Duane's,” I said.
"Duane who?"
"Duane.” I motioned with my hand to hurry his memory along. “The guy I tripped over on the beach the first night we got here?” I put my hands down after I realized he didn't know any of this. “His feet were bare when he washed up on shore, and if my memory serves me right, Duane wore a pair of boots just like the one we found."
"So you knew him from before?” Tom asked.
"No.” I shook my head. “He tried to pick Sergio and me up when we were checking in and looking for a roommate."
"So, the boot you found in the basement is missing from the kitchen?"
I nodded.
"Did you see who took...” His voice trailed off as his eyes narrowed on mine. “Sorry, stupid question. That's why you looked so surprised when you were coming back from the cooler."
"I was so busy cooking. I didn't pay any attention to who or what was going on around me. I was just frying sausages and eggs."
"A lot of people are happy you did. I know I was starving when I came down for breakfast this morning."
"Tom, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"What did you mean earlier, when you said we didn't look domestic?"
His face flushed red. “You strike me more as a man of action and adventure, not a homebound bookworm."
"What?” I said.
Tom smiled. “You know, you look more like the blue Speedo type, than the boxer swim trunks."
My heart stopped in my chest. Now what did he mean by that? Could he have planted the snake in our room and been the one who took my blue Speedo? Maybe the snake hadn't eaten it after all. Why was Tom asking me about them now? Was he trying to pump me for more information? Was he warning me to back off? Or was he telling me that I was next?
"Remember, it's almost five and we have Bingo starting in ten minutes, and at six there'll be a tea dance, which will go on until supper is served. The staff is back and working, and, I'm sure, you'll all be happy to hear that I'm not cooking,” Mike said into the microphone.
Cheers came from those listening to Mike's announcement.
"Like he did any of the cooking anyway. You did most of it.” Sergio poked me with his finger.
I swatted him away. After breakfast, we ran to our room to shower and get clean clothes, but the rain soaked us again on the way back to the dining hall. I was damp again, and my underwear was sticking.
John stepped up to the small stage, where they were setting up the mixer boards, CD players, and turntables. He took the mike. “We've searched the whole resort for umbrellas and slickers, but we've come up empty. Who would've thought that they wouldn't stock these items in a tropical paradise."
He motioned outside. “It doesn't look like it'll be letting up anytime soon. So,” he waved for Mike to bring something over, “we have these for those of you who want to keep dry."
Mike carried a cardboard box up to John and bowed to him. John reached in and pulled out a large, white plastic garbage bag and unfolded it. “Now, we're going to see how many ways we can design,” he paused for effect, “Weather gear.” He waved the plastic bag at the crowd.
"He's got to be kidding,” Sergio scoffed. “Is this the level we have sunk to, rainy day crafts from summer camp? Just what this crowd needs. Next thing you know, they'll be staging a drag show."
"Don't give them any ideas. At least, we're not singing
Kum ba yah
, yet. Hopefully, no one will put one of those plastic bags over their head,” I replied.
John walked past us, unfolding his bag. He stopped at the door and put it over his head. He looked out into the rain and glanced at his watch. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and dashed out into the storm.
Despite spending all afternoon in the dining hall, my morning clothes never really dried. “I want to go back to our room and change again into some clean and dry clothes,” I said to Sergio. I grabbed my plastic bag and stood up.
"It's not like that's going to do any good,” he said, nodding toward my hand. “As soon as you step outside again, your clothes are going to be soaked."
"I don't care. I just need to get out of these damp things and try to get dry. Maybe hit the shower to warm up.” I saw his expression. “I can go by myself."
"I'd feel better if I went with you."
"Afraid to be alone, or concerned about me? I just want to go and change.” I looked outside. “It looks like the rain has stopped."
"Each time we try to get across the resort, the rain pours harder. It seems to know as soon as we leave the building. So, are we going to argue about this or go?” Sergio grabbed my bag and threw both of them into the garbage can by the door. “Let's go."
We stepped out into the evening air. The cloud cover from the tropical storm made it seem darker than it should have been for the time of the day. The walkway lights and most of the emergency lights were still off, making the resort appear darker than at night.
We walked briskly by the first building, rounded the corner, and a drop of water hit my arm. It must have fallen from the eaves.