The Cleaning Lady

I suspect that my cleaning lady, Inga,
stole fifty dollars from me last thursday.
I know for a fact that it was fifty.
I remember counting the money.
Two twenties and a ten, folded neatly
beneath a self help book I bought the other
night. Ten Love Positions for
the Inflexible. I remember putting
the money right there. At first I thought
that maybe I'd spent it, or that
she thought it was her pay, or a tip
despite the check I left on the kitchen
table. Maybe one of her friends, the nanny
across the street helped herself to the cash.
She shook her head no though when
I asked her about it. No she said sweetly,
I don't know anything about the money.
She was sipping some green tea that she
likes to drink and adjusting the buttons
on her new white blouse. I almost believed her.
She's from Norway and has long blonde
hair with pale blue eyes like ice.
I've never heard of a crime being committed
over there. It's not alot really, the money
amounts to a dinner out, a few beers,
a taxi ride to the aiport, plus tip.
And besides that, the house is always clean.
It's spotless when she leaves, very clean.
Even the plants are watered.
I don't want to lose her.