Chapter 9 – Little Augustus's

"Ohcrapohcrapohcrap," Martha muttered to herself as she opened the oven door to check the pizza.

It was Sunday. The Drama Club met on Monday, and she still needed to practice her lines. The day after that was the Swim Team meet, followed by her usual work at the homeless shelter. And, to top it all off, her parents were out of town for the weekend, so she had volunteered to host this weekend's Recovery Fund officer meeting. Why? Why did the universe have to lay such burdens upon her?

Peering through the doorway into the living room, she glared at Mary.

"Oh my God, Mary! Would you stop watching TV and help me get ready for the meeting?"

"Uh… can I wait just a little longer?" Mary asked, staring at the television set.

"No!"

"Okay," Mary said reluctantly.

Her eyes still glued to the screen, Mary got up from the couch and headed in the general direction of the kitchen. Martha grabbed her just in time to stop her from colliding with the wall.

"What should I do?" Mary asked, once she had arrived safely in the kitchen.

It occurred to Martha that she hadn't fully considered the answer to this question. Chopping stuff was definitely out of the question, as was anything involving the stove burners. Giving Mary the task of washing dishes was also a bit iffy, since there were a number of electrical appliances in the kitchen whose cords could reach to the sink. And Martha had already done a lot in the way of cleaning…

Martha sighed. "Never mind. You can go back to watching your all-important sitcom."

"It's an infomercial," said Mary.

"Whatever! Just get out of here!"

"Okay. Thanks!" Mary skipped back into the living room.

There was a knock at the door just as Martha took the pizza from the oven.

"Mary, get the door!"

"Okay!" came the gratingly cheerful reply.

Martha gritted her teeth. She had been having a very stressful day. Although the familiarity was comforting, it wasn't nearly enough to offset the irritation of knowing that someone else was enjoying life.

Well, at least she had the satisfaction of a job well done. She gazed down proudly at her first homemade pizza, still hot and bubbling from the oven. After hours spent shopping for ingredients, kneading homemade dough, cooking sauce, and grating cheese, she had produced a dinner that should satisfy everyone.

"Hey, Judas! Hey, Peter!" Mary said as she opened the door. She paused, peering over their shoulders. "Oh, look, there comes Jesus."

"Hey, everyone," Jesus said as he leaned in through the front door and waved at Martha. "What smells so good?"

"Homemade pizza," said Martha. "I thought I'd try a new recipe."

"Oh, Martha … you didn't have to do all that," Jesus said, with a slightly apologetic expression. "I went to Little Augustus's and got pizza for us before I came here." He stepped through the doorway, supporting a stack of pizza boxes with his right hand.

"Little Augustus's?" Judas exclaimed. "Alright!"

"Oh! My favorite!" said Mary.

"Hey Martha, where should I put these?" Jesus asked from behind the stack.

"Uh … on the counter, I guess," Martha replied, in a somewhat dazed voice.

Jesus walked over and set down the stack of pizzas, leaping away just before Judas and Peter pounced on it.

"Hey, where's Lazarus?" asked Jesus.

Martha stared back at him blankly for a few moments.

"Oh, right. The emergency room. Sorry, stupid question." Jesus turned to the other three officers, who were in the middle of gorging themselves on Little Augustus's pizza. "So, should we start the meeting?"

"So … good … Can't … stop…" Peter moaned as he packed another slice into his mouth.

Eventually Jesus managed to coax them over to the kitchen table to begin planning for the Recovery Fund's upcoming bake sale.

"Hey, Martha, we need you to take minutes," Peter called.

Martha walked silently over to the table and took out a notepad.

It was a short meeting, after which the officers kicked back and enjoyed the remainder of Little Augustus's. Jesus felt sorry for Martha, so he ate a piece of her pizza too.

"Hey, Judas!"

Judas looked up from the locker through which he had been frantically rifling.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Whatcha looking for?" Mary asked, peering over his shoulder.

"Uh, nothing."

"Oh. Okay."

Mary held out the blue notebook in which Judas recorded the Recovery Fund's finances. "Anyway, I found this on the floor after you left on Saturday."

Judas stared at the notebook for a moment before grabbing it.

"Thanks," he said quickly.

"So, uh, I don't know much about bookkeeping," Mary said as Judas turned back to his locker, "but I think you might have made a mistake in there."

Judas froze in the middle of closing his locker door. Slowly, he peered over his shoulder at Mary's smiling face.

"You … read it?" he asked softly.

"Just a little bit," said Mary. "But I saw a few places where the numbers didn't look like they added up."

For a moment, Judas couldn't speak. His mind seethed with questions (e.g. "You can add?"), but he held them back.

"Well, I'll take another look," he said, forcing a smile. "Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem," Mary replied, turning to leave. "See you later!"

Judas's hand shook as he slipped the notebook into his locker and closed the door. Mary didn't suspect anything, of course. But it was only a matter of time before she mentioned the numbers in some offhand comment to Martha. And Martha would want to check all the numbers three times over—twice with a calculator and then once by herself to make sure the calculator wasn't malfunctioning. He would have to do something. Quickly.