“No, they’re loose in this canvas bag,” I said.

“We don’t take loose change through the drive-through, Becky.”

“Can I carry them in to the lobby counter?” I asked.

“Is that the load from Dale Heckert’s shop?” Marge asked.

I held the blue bag on my lap and didn’t answer.

Marge leaned in to her microphone, her crisp voice turning sharp enough to rattle the speaker.

“Dale took ninety-one thousand pennies out of our vault earlier this week,” Marge said.

“If those coins are covered in garage oil, they can’t go anywhere near our mechanical sorter.”