“I didn’t mean it like that,” Pappy Darcy pleaded. “At first, I just told him what to say. Told him to make pretend. But…but as I talked, I could see the boy thinkin’ that he’d done all the shootin’. I…I just let him go on thinkin’ it. I told him to tell Sue Beth what he told me…what he thought he told me. Then, natcherly, Sue Beth told me what Earl told her.” Pappy Darcy bit his lip and held back tears. “I said, better take him to the po-lice afore they find out and come git him…Sue Beth, she don’t know nothing ’bout this.”

Decker nodded.

“Then they put Earl in jail.” Pappy Darcy’s lower lip began to tremble. “I didn’t think they’d do that. I just couldn’t take none of this no more. I told Sue Beth to go to Manfred, sell the damn land. I wasn’t gonna run, no sir. But if’n we ever get out of this mess, I didn’t want this farm anymore. Once it was the Promised Land for me, God’s land of milk and honey. Not no more, misters. Not no more.”

Pappy Darcy wept openly. Hollander stood, placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, then looked at Decker. Granny Darcy came out again, stared at her sobbing husband. Decker assured her he was fine, but the old woman couldn’t take her eyes off of her mate. A minute passed before anyone spoke. Eventually, Pappy Darcy noticed his wife, beckoned her to him, and hugged her. She buried her face in his shirt.

“She ain’t evil,” Pappy Darcy said. “She’s just not right in the head anymore.”

“My trust is in my husband and the Lord Jesus,” she said, looking up. “You can’t do nothin’ to us.”

“Be polite, woman,” Pappy Darcy scolded her quietly. Granny Darcy lowered her head and stared at her feet. The old man looked at Hollander and asked, “You gonna arrest her?”

Hollander nodded. Pappy Darcy turned his attention to Decker.

“You gonna arrest me, too?”

“Yes,” Decker answered.

“And Earl?”

“It’s best if you all come down to the station,” Decker said. “Try and clear up the situation.”

“What’s gonna happen to us, Mister Policeman?” Pappy Darcy asked.

Decker didn’t rightly know, and he told Pappy Darcy just that.

Byron Howard was tending his supers, pouring raw honey into a big ceramic vat. The sunlight bounced off the streams of molten gold, scattered onto the fields. A steady hum of apiarian activity punctuated the summer air. Byron worked slowly, taking his time. Dressed in veil and gloves, the beekeeper didn’t pay attention to the approaching steps, didn’t bother turning around until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He pivoted, looked up, and locked eyes with Decker, waiting for the policeman to speak.