Dear Wife(62)

A commotion comes from behind me, from somewhere down the hall. Hurried footsteps and voices talking all at once, frantic words tumbling over each other in urgency, in alarm. One word sticks to the air like glue: money.

I turn and collide into a cluster of church ladies, a knot of panicked women gathered around a pink-faced Charlene. I take in her wide, worried eyes, the two red spots that glow on the apples of her cheeks like a rash.

“Where’s the Reverend?” she says, her voice breathy and taut. “I need to speak to the Reverend this instant.”

“He had a meeting, but he should be back any minute. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s gone!” she wails. “The collection money is gone.”

“Are you sure?” one of the church ladies says. “Maybe you just misplaced it.”

“Well, of course I didn’t misplace it.” Charlene punches a fist into her bony hip. “It was there, in my top desk drawer, and now it’s gone. Somebody took it. Somebody stole it.”

The words fall into the hallway like a dirty bomb, and two things flash through my mind at once. First, that I’ve never seen the normally perfect Charlene like this, all wild hair and smeared lipstick, not even when two birds flew into the chapel and began dive-bombing the women’s Bible study group. Charlene had calmly fetched a couple of oven mitts from the kitchen, plucked the birds out of the air and released them outside without ruffling a feather—theirs or hers.

And second, that I’m surprised it took this long. What kind of idiot keeps a wad of cash in their desk drawer? Even in a church, even surrounded by all these godly people, it was only a matter of time before somebody swiped it. There were thieves in the Bible, too.

The ladies gathered around Charlene clutch at their pearls. They may hold titles more impressive than Charlene’s—head of youth programming, volunteer coordinator, manager of a whole squad of counselors—but Charlene runs this place. When she says the money was stolen from her desk drawer, the money was stolen.

“Maybe whoever took it... I don’t know, moved it to a safer location.” Like a bank, I think but don’t say.

Behind them, at the other end of the hall, the Reverend steps through the double doors. He’s wearing a suit today, and a paisley tie so tightly knotted I wonder how he can breathe. He waves at me, cordial and cheerful as ever, and I hate what this is going to do to him.

“My desk drawer is perfectly safe,” Charlene says to me. Her back is to the Reverend, so she hasn’t seen him yet, doesn’t know he’s sped up at the cluster of church ladies. “It’s locked, and only two people have a key—me and the Reverend.”

“What about me?” he says, and the church ladies suck in a breath. Any other day, any other situation, I would laugh at how their eyes go wide, how they pivot to him as one. He takes in their expressions, and his friendly grin disappears. “Good gracious, what’s wrong?”

Charlene fills him in on the missing money. The more agitated she becomes, the more the Reverend remains calm. He cups his chin in a hand and listens.

“How much are we talking about?” he says when she’s done.

Charlene turns a pale shade of green, grimacing like she might throw up. “Somewhere around two thousand dollars. A little more.”

The Reverend takes it like a champ, barely even wincing. “Okay. Well, that’s...that’s a lot of money, isn’t it? When is the last time you saw it?”

Charlene presses a finger to her lips and thinks for a moment. “Well, I added Monday night’s collection money to the bag this morning, along with the two twenties you borrowed from petty cash. The bag was still in there, closed and zipped, when I checked after lunch, but I didn’t look inside. I just assumed... But just now, when I went to get it ready for the bank deposit, it was all gone. The bag was empty.”

“So if I’m understanding you correctly,” the Reverend says, “the last time you know for sure the money was still there was this morning. Is that right?”

“Well...yes. When I added in the twenties.”

“And you’re sure you locked the drawer afterward?”

“I always lock the drawer. It’s as much a habit as brushing my teeth in the morning. I don’t even think about it, I just do it. There’s no way I would have forgotten.” Charlene’s answer is immediate, but her tone doesn’t sound all that certain.

The Reverend turns to me. “Is Charlene’s key still in my desk drawer?”

“I...” I glance at Charlene, who’s crying for real now, and shrug. “There are a lot of keys in your desk drawer. Which one is it?”

“The blue one, on a ring with a plastic running shoe and a pompom. Nike, I believe.”

“Then yes. I was at your desk just this morning. I saw it.”

Charlene flashes me a frown. “What now?” she says to the Reverend. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

At the last word, my heart stutters, and the skin of my face goes hot. If the Reverend says yes, I will be in my car before he can even pick up the phone. The instant his chin even dips in the direction of a nod, I’m out the door.

What, you thought leaving me would be easy? Your voice whispers in my ear. You’re not just running from me. You’re running from the police now, too. How far do you think you’ll get now that everyone is hunting for you? Who do you think will find you first—them or me?