Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

large this morning, empty of the sweet, heavy scent of real comb.

“Where is the rest of the summer crop, Mabel?” David asked.

“Arthur said he moved it to the regional warehouse to save on local storage fees,” I said.

“Which warehouse?”

I realized then that I did not know. The paper trail was in Arthur’s locked desk.

“We need to find those records,” David continue reading …