No body saw the mortician leave. Nobody did either.
Like how the deceased were tucked away in their metal vaults, those who lived and breathed were too preoccupied.
Linda's yellow birthday cake. That was the grand distraction.
And so the mortician, gingerly slipping off the plastic gloves to reveal pale, ashy hands that sported dark painted fingertips, disposed of the evidence and walked out the door and down the hall.
She passed the common room, too distracted to hear her coworkers' joyous whispers of anticipation,
or peek at the thick unsliced birthday cake desperately waiting for Linda to appear so it could be cut. Too bad the mortician would not be able to taste it.
But that did not matter much. Because Linda wouldn't be able to either.