Read Online Killer's Cousin by Nancy Werlin - Free Book Online

afternoon. If they had seen my upraised hand.
    But I had
not
hit Lily. I had
not
. I held on to that as I lay in bed with my forearm over my open eyes. I had
not
done it. Not this time. And yet …
    I recalled the strange expression on Lily’s face. Suddenly I recognized it. I had seen it on Greg’s face, when Emily fell. Before he buried it in the basement of his house of lies. It was …
    Complicity.

CHAPTER 12
    T he next day exhaustion pressed on me like concrete. Only part of that day felt real: last period, in Dr. Walpole’s class. There, I got a second wind and was able to sit up and pay attention of a kind.
    Despite myself, I had become interested in the class. Up to then, we had been occupied by a rapid overview of the thousand-year period. Dr. Walpole was a good teacher: knowledgeable, and even, in her own dry way, dramatic. I would never forget her slides of the Kriminalmuseum in Rothenburg, with its elaborate instruments of torture. Who had ever heard of a punishment flute for bad musicians? Or a heavy metal mask with a tongue guard for gossips? Not to mention the more elaborate and horrible devices: racks, eye gougers, the inner-spiked case of an iron maiden. “Forget about criminals, witches, and heretics for a minute, people,” said Dr. Walpole, “and notice how many ofthese instruments were used for day-to-day social control.”
    I wondered, with a kind of sick fascination, what they would have used on me. Or on Greg.
    That day we were to announce our medieval identities: the point of view from which, said Dr. Walpole, we would individually grapple with the entire period. “And about which,” she’d added, “you will write a major paper in the spring. So be careful. The character you pick—who can be real or imaginary—will be with you all year. Remember that if you choose to invent someone, you will still be responsible for collecting the background to form a realistic environment and opinions for your character.”
    In other words, it would be tougher to make someone up than to choose someone about whom you could just do specific research. I took the hint and chose a real person: Maimonides, a twelfth-century rabbinical scholar, philosopher, and physician. There was lots of material available about him, much of which was easily accessible via the Net.
    I was the first person in the class to declare my choice. Dr. Walpole considered me over her half glasses and then nodded. “A fine choice.” She wrote it down, and then said, “Stoph?”
    While Christoph Khouri explained his choice (an elaborate imaginary identity for an eleventh-century fighting knight), I heard Frank Delgado whisper at me: “Hey.”
    This was unusual. Though we still sat side by side in Dr. Walpole’s class, we had comprehensively ignoredeach other since he’d matter-of-factly identified the depth of my daily fear. I glanced over at him. “What?”
    Frank replied, “I like Maimonides. I can see that his rationalism would appeal to you.”
    I blinked. I didn’t quite know how to react. But it didn’t matter; Frank had already half turned away to look toward Dr. Walpole, who was in the process of rejecting Justine Sinclair’s choice. “I don’t believe you’ve really considered the wide range of possibilities, Justine,” she was saying.
    â€œBut I have, Dr. Walpole,” said Justine earnestly. “Joan of Arc is a major figure. Don’t you think she’s fascinating?”
    â€œI think everyone at this school already knows Joan’s story,” said Dr. Walpole. “Including you. Her presence will not add new information to our discussions; nor will you be challenged in the research phase.” She paused. “How about Margery Kempe? She saw visions too.” At that, I saw Frank smile to himself; clearly, he knew who this Margery Kempe was. I wanted to kick him.
    Frank Delgado was last. I