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he was extremely organized or he didn’t have much to keep him busy.
    “We’re just a small-town operation and don’t often deal with the environmental boys. I want to be protected. To tell you the truth, I feel a bit like a sheep waiting to be shorn.” He smiled disarmingly. “I understand those boys can play hardball. I just want to make sure we’re covered.”
    “I understand.” I tried to sound reassuring, but I scarcely knew where to begin. “Have they served you with any papers? Do you know of any complaints? Or is this a routine visit?”
    He shrugged. “The guy called, wanted to know if he could come tomorrow afternoon. I assumed this was routine, but I wanted to make sure. You know, protect myself. You hear about these regulators running a police state.”
    I nodded. He probably spent his afternoons listening to conservative talk radio shows. “Best to beprepared. What sorts of records are you required to keep?”
    He looked puzzled, so I quickly added, “Do you use or store any hazardous materials on the premises?”
    He snorted politely. “You mean other than the liquid correction ink the girls out front use? I understand that’s toxic or hazardous or some such. We’re supposed to keep paperwork on that. Can you believe it?”
    “A Material Safety Data Sheet.” I nodded and hoped I’d gotten the name right. “The paperwork can be quite onerous.”
    “You can say that again. Not sure how we’re protecting the environment if we’re killing all those trees for the paper to keep records on.”
    I nodded and pretended to jot myself a note.
    He continued. “Of course, we use glues and stains in our operation. Heck, even empty paint cans have to get special treatment these days. We contract with a waste hauler. As far as I know, we’re okay.”
    “What exactly would you like me to do?”
    He shrugged, with both palms up in an eloquent question. “You tell me. Anything we need to do? To protect ourselves?”
    “Do you have anyone designated with special responsibilities for compliance?”
    He pursed his lips, digesting my question, then shrugged. “The plant manager, I suppose. He keeps up with that stuff. To be honest, I pay as little attention to it as I can. Haven’t ever found out what allthat record-keeping and environmental nonsense has to do with running a business.”
    “Perhaps I could meet with him. As long as the records are in order—”
    “He’s off this week. Took some vacation. Slow time of the year, Thanksgiving to Christmas. Orders really slack off until after the first of the year.”
    I tapped the end of my pen against my bottom Up. “Maybe we should try to have this visit postponed.” It would buy me some time to figure out what I was doing. “If your compliance guy’s not here to answer any questions they may have—”
    “How about a tour of the plant?” He abruptly moved to another topic without responding. “If you’re gonna be representing us, you might as well get a feel for our operation here.”
    With one hand on his desk, he steered himself around the corner. “Would you hand me those crutches, there behind the door?”
    Propped against the wall beside my chair stood short metal crutches with circles that he slid over his forearms. He wiggled out of the chair. “This’ll be easier going, if you don’t mind walking with a slowpoke.”
    I opened the office door and followed him out. I wondered what had happened that he now needed crutches or a chair. He maneuvered with remarkable agility for a man who’d come to the use of crutches late in life. I’d remembered Mr. Garnet as a member of the hunting and fishing club, the fellows who used their Luna Lake cabins as headquarters for themanly pursuits of deer hunting and escaping their wives.
    On our stroll around the plant, I began to question any optimism I might have felt at becoming the new corporate counsel for Garnet Mills. The mandatory postings about wage and hour laws were displayed near the time