Three times. She'd counted it three times - and come up with two different totals. She sighed and wrote in the figures from the last two counts, then thought better of it and made a fourth attempt. She was tired. Exactly twenty dollars off.

She added up the checks again but they matched what she'd written down. Then she went through the singles, fives, tens, twenties and even the three fifties old Mr. Simon faithfully put into the basket each and every week. There'd been no coins in the offering plate that particular Sunday.
She was expected at dinner in less than a half-hour; the invitation, a rarity, had come from that nice new couple, Tom and Ashley Gilcrest. They were so nice, and so very God-fearing.

Damn. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been off in her count. Now though, since she'd already filled out the form, what was she supposed to do? No way was she going to show any erasures or scratch outs. The mistake had to be here somewhere.

It was unusual for her to do the counting on her own, but of late, she'd had to do it more than once, and in fact, this was the second Sunday in a row. It wasn't a good idea. It had been her rule; one she'd established almost two decades ago. There should always be someone to confirm the count and to verify that no shenanigans were taking place. It may be God's house, she liked to say, but people were people, weren't they?

Unfortunately, Helen Schwartz was ill and had missed church more than half the time over the previous two months, and with Pastor on leave... Or "on sabbatical" as it was being called; she shook her head; please - how can two months in the Caribbean be called a sabbatical? Sounded like a vacation to her. Sabbatical. Hah! She almost spit the word in her mind. Sabbatical indeed. Give ME two months in Haiti, she thought. I'd get a nice tan.

Since it was exactly a twenty dollar error, she went through the twenties again - a fifth time - and finally, there it was. She found the extra bill. Two brand new twenties, their serial numbers sequential, had been stuck together.

How could she not have noticed it? And if they were stuck together now, how did she count them correctly that first time through? Great. Now she'd have to either create a new form; they were all dated when they came out of the computer, also her idea; or she'd have to alter the one she'd been using, which was, after all, by now, completely filled out - well, except for the total. She looked at her watch, then the clock on the wall. Her shoulders slumped. If she made a change on the form, it would look suspicious - or it could.

She'd certainly be suspicious if she was auditing the records and came across an altered form, that was for sure, but then, that was her job, wasn't it?
Twenty-seven minutes. She had to lock up the church, drive home, check on her father and maybe freshen up a bit, then package up the angel-food cake she'd made last night as her contribution to this afternoon's dinner, and drive to the Gilcrests'. And all in twenty-seven minutes.

She just didn't have time to deal with this now, she'd figure it out later. She couldn't think straight. Shaking her head, she pocketed the extra twenty, filled out the total on the bottom of the tally sheet and put it into the looseleaf binder. She quickly filled out a deposit ticket, tore off the carbon-less copy and stapled it to the sheet, then she tucked the binder back into its safe, closed the door and spun the dial. She put the cash, checks and the original copy of the deposit ticket into the canvas bank bag, put on her jacket, picked up her purse and the bank bag, then left the office, turning off the light and locking the door behind her.

She quickly ran around the church making sure sure the rest of the doors were locked. They were. Ralph had done his job, anyway, she thought and found herself surprised again that this strange little man hadn't screwed up. He would eventually. She knew it. She could just tell. And when that happened? -wouldn't she have fun pointing out to the elders that, had they listened to her, they'd have never hired him in the first place! It was just a matter of time. Ralph. -What kind of name was that for a Mexican, anyway? Well, she didn't trust him. She never had and she never would.

Exiting through the building's side entrance to the staff parking lot, the early afternoon sun made her squint and she blinked a few times to adjust her eyes. Her Buick beeped as she punched the remote to unlock her doors. Another button popped her trunk and she tossed in the deposit bag. She opened her door, got in and started the car. The aging red on white sign in front of her parking spot read "Reserved for Betty Margate".

Everyone else was gone. There were no cars in the staff parking lot, or, she saw as she drove around the building, any left in the general lot either. She knew this to be true, since she'd just walked the entire building, but it struck her again how she was usually the first person to arrive and always the last to leave. She exhaled and shook her head a little. Did anyone appreciate all she did for that church? Anyone? Sure she was paid, but still...