Dear Wife - Kimberly Belle Page 0,80
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?
As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. If I run now, if anybody here decides I’m worth chasing down, one problem turns into two, and this becomes a whole different paradigm. And what about the money belt strapped to my waist? What would they think if they found it? What would the Reverend think? I wait for his response, and a trickle of sweat runs down my back.
“‘People do not despise a thief if he steals to satisfy his hunger when he is starving.’ Proverbs 6:30. Let us assume that whoever took that money has a hungry soul.”
Charlene nods, then frowns. “You’re just going to let them keep it?”
“Not exactly. What I’d like to do is for you to stay away from your desk for the next day or two, and to leave the top drawer open. That’ll give the thief time to rethink his or her actions and opportunity to return the money where they found it. If the money is back in the envelope by close of business tomorrow, we’ll forget this ever happened.”
“But what if it’s not?” Charlene says, the question on everybody’s tongue. “What if they don’t put back the money?”
The Reverend looks around at the people gathered in the hall, his gaze pausing on each woman’s eyes. When he gets to mine, my heart explodes. “Let’s just pray that they do.”
MARCUS
Dr. Trevor McAdams lives in one of those houses on Country Club Lane that’s trying too hard. Four sides of brick crawling with ivy. Sprawling rooms topped with slate roof tiles. A view of the golf course, where men in prissy shorts whack balls and slap each other on the shoulder as they discuss where to outsource Pine Bluff’s jobs next—Mexico or Asia. At least they’ll never be able to outsource mine. The more this city gets steered into the gutter, the more bad guys there are for me to catch.
Not that Trevor McAdams is a bad guy. As far