Killer's Cousin by Nancy Werlin

Author:Nancy Werlin [Werlin, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101576939
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2009-02-19T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

On Monday, I found myself whistling as I arrived at medieval history. Raina had kissed me, gently, the night before when we got back from seeing the student films. For a long moment it confused me. I couldn’t respond. And then I could.

It was so sweet.

I barely knew Raina. I didn’t believe she could honestly be attracted to me. Most importantly, more deeply, it felt wrong to think I could be with her. Or anyone. Very wrong; evil, almost. There would always be Emily, and what had happened.

What I had done.

Still, irrationally, I felt amazingly good. I decided not to talk myself out of it yet.

I entered the classroom a full three minutes before the bell, and found Frank Delgado already slouched in his chair at the front. He was reading. Just as predictably, no one else, not even Dr. Walpole, had yet arrived.

“Hey,” I said.

After a pause, Frank dog-eared a page and closed the book. After a longer pause, he nodded hello. Over his shoulder, I squinted down at the title of his book. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

On impulse, I pulled out my Star Market card and offered it to him. He stared at it, and for a moment I thought he might not know about swapping. But then he grinned—nearly everyone did when you offered to swap—and pulled out his wallet. I gave him ELLIS O’DONNELL and he gave me JOANNE STANBRIDGE.

“That’s new,” I said, indicating the Zen book. “How are you doing with that other guy? Abu-something.”

“Abulafia. Fine. What about you? Have you finished The Guide for the Perplexed yet?”

“I’m listening to it on tape,” I said. “In the original Arabic.” And then I laughed because, after all, Raina had kissed me.

Frank stared at me. I sat down next to him. I picked up the Zen book and looked through it a little. “You believe any of this?”

Frank said, “I want to believe.”

It was a near-perfect imitation of David Duchovny as Fox Mulder. I almost choked. Frank looked at me blandly.

“You watch The X-Files?” I asked.

“Sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it would be your kind of thing,” I said.

“Why not? Too weird?” His mouth twisted. “Not weird enough?”

I stifled another laugh. Frank noticed but didn’t seem to mind. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought there was the start of a smile on his face. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s TV. I guess I’m surprised you’d watch TV.”

Frank stretched out his legs. “Why’s that?”

“I’d have thought you’d think it’s all crap,” I said.

“A lot of it is crap,” said Frank. “So I usually read something while I’m watching.”

Now that was not a surprise. “I’m hooked on The X-Files,” I found myself confessing.

Frank said, “I’m into Looney Tunes. I’ve seen every Road Runner cartoon multiple times.”

I looked at him. He looked back. And then, as if on cue, we chorused together: “Wile E. Coyote. Supergenius.”

“Brilliant stuff,” said Frank.

“Yeah,” I said.

But later that afternoon as I climbed the stairs to the Shaughnessy apartment, I was feeling itchy again, wary.

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