Moment of Truth
Ginny barked, "Freeze!" in a voice that threatened to crack the floorboards. Her .357 lined up straight on his face.
He didn't freeze. Maybe he was too scared. He wheeled away as if she’d already fired.
Inadvertently he blundered against the door and knocked himself down. Snow blew across him from the porch. Eighteen inches of it had accumulated outside, and it was still falling.
Ginny rushed forward, crouched nearly on top of him. Then she corked the muzzle of her gun on his nose.
Eyes white with alarm, he gasped out, "Don't shoot! I killed her! I confess! Don't shoot me!"
I stopped. Ginny didn't need me. Not now. Maybe she never did.