Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

the pale jar and held it out to Arthur, the glass cool against my palm.

“Flip the bottle, Arthur, and let the inspector see the bubble,” I said.

Arthur did not take the jar. He kept his hands in his pockets, his loafers shifting on the dry pine boards of the porch.

“We don’t have time for kitchen science, Mabel,” Arthur said, looking at his watch again.continue reading …