by Colleen Foley
I knew Jimmy had a cocked shotgun aimed at me under
the table. I had no intention of shooting him. But he was going to pay
penance for his sin of omission.
“What now, boy? Battle of wills? Mexican standoff, hunter style?”
Neither of us moved.
“Answer me, Jimmy. How long you been pullin’ the wool over my eyes about Seth? How long have you known my brother’s a damned witch?”
He glanced out the kitchen window, sighed, and whispered, “From the get go.”
My shot rang thunder through the tiny kitchen. On the counter, his favorite cookie jar exploded.