Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

toward the steps. “This is a setup by a disgruntled former employee and a partner who is too old to manage her own books.”

“We have the paperwork, Arthur,” I said.

We walked down the steps and back to the office yard, where the heat was rising off the gravel in waves. The air smelled of hot dust and the bitter scent of wild chinaberry.