The Pretty Ones (10 page)

This is how Linnie felt during the last minutes of her life.

But all she did was blink.

“Hey, I know you're leaving . . . I just wanted to apologize.” Savannah looked unsure of herself. She glanced over her shoulder, as if to check to see if anyone was watching their exchange, then looked back to Nell and forced a smile. “For Wednesday, you know?”

Oh yes, Nell knew.

For Adriana ratting her out.

For Mary Ann being a snitch.

For Savannah just standing there, watching her friends torment Nell without doing a damn thing about it.

“I've felt bad about it ever since, but now, after what happened this morning . . .” Her words trailed off, allowing Nell to fill in the rest of the sentence herself.
After we found out about Linnie . . .

“Thanks,” Nell said dryly. She sidestepped her desk, avoided eye contact. Despite Savannah's sudden change of heart, Nell was afraid to look at her, afraid that if she did she'd only see Savannah's pretty face bloom into a nefarious grin.

Because it's a trick. Because she doesn't really mean it.

“Listen, I . . . we're going to the Cabana Club for happy hour, if you want to join us.”

Nell stopped short, sure that her ears were playing tricks on her.

“It's not a big deal . . . just drinks, you know? We thought that maybe you'd like to unwind a little. Today has been, well . . .” She paused, trying to find the right word.

Nell ogled Savannah's platform shoes, unable to look away. They were pale gray leather, open-toed, with a wooden sole at least an inch thick—shoes only a harlot would wear. At least that's what Barrett would have said, scribbling it on his yellow pad. The clothes fit the girl. No proper girl wore platform shoes or short skirts or dyed her hair and smeared garish red lipstick across her mouth.

And what about Mary Ann? She'd never hang out with the likes of Nell, not after their exchange.

It's a trick. A dirty, rotten trick.

“Don't worry . . .” Savannah offered Nell a faint smile of reassurance. “Mary Ann isn't going to be there tonight. Besides, would it matter if she was?”

Of
course
it mattered. Was Savannah that dense? And what if Mary Ann really
was
going to be there? What if Savannah was inviting her out because Mary Ann told her to, and as soon as Nell got to the Cabana Club they'd humiliate her, like in that
Carrie
book by Stephen King?

“I have to go home.” Nell shouldered her way around her coworker before Savannah could argue, rushing toward the elevator doors.

“Well, if you change your mind . . . !” Savannah called out after her. Her insistence nearly pushed Nell to take the stairs instead.

Nell choked when a couple of Linnie's cohorts followed her into the elevator. She clamped her teeth together and squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath as the elevator began to make its descent.

“I just think it's really weird,” the first girl said.

“Yeah,” said the second. “Weird that Linnie hadn't mentioned it . . .”

“Hadn't brought up that Nell girl . . .” said a third.

“Not even once either. Not a single time.”

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Wanted to scream. To pound her fists against the metal walls of that metal box.
Because you would have judged her,
she wanted to spit.
Because you're all the same. A girl can't be herself, can't tell the truth, can't be anything but fake, fake, fake!

“You're all fake.” Nell breathed the words out just as the elevator hit the ground floor and the doors yawned open.

Linnie's friends slowly turned to give Nell a pointed stare.

“Ex
cuse
me?” said one.

“Nothing,” Nell murmured, then shoved her way out of the elevator.

Spilling out onto the crowded street, she almost ran to the train station. And yet, the longer she waited on the platform, the more Savannah's invitation scratched at the back of her brain. Maybe Savannah had been making a genuine effort. It was true that she wasn't the first girl Nell thought of when she considered potential friends, but she'd wanted to be part of Mary Ann Thomas's group, hadn't she?
Not anymore I don't.
Nell had been daydreaming about hanging out with those pretty girls for as long as she had worked at Rambert & Bertram. Except she'd screwed that opportunity up for herself, what with how she had spoken to Mary Ann earlier in the day. And then she'd gone and shot down Savannah's invitation as though she had all the friends in the world.

You're just upset because Nell Sullivan is a liar.

Yes, that was true. Nell's friendship with Linnie was all made up.

But maybe if she tried again. Just once more, with Savannah. Maybe then everything would change. And Mary Ann? Well, if Mary Ann got in the way, Nell would tell her exactly where she could go.

.   .   .

“How could you?”

Barrett was in his usual spot, his legs thrown across one of the arms of his old wingback chair. He folded his book across his chest and eyed his sister from across their small living room—a room that, in its disrepair, seemed to lean a touch to the left. Nell dropped her purse onto a chair as she passed through the kitchen, only to pause and give her sibling a good, long look.

“I know it was you, Barrett,” she said. “The dirt in her mouth?” She snorted, turned away from him, not wanting to see the smirk she knew would eventually settle across his lips. “Nice touch,” she murmured. “You may as well have shoved a cupcake down her throat with my name on it.” That was overdramatic. She knew there was no way anyone could have put together the fact that Nell had anything to do with Linnie's death. After all, she
didn't
, did she? Nell wasn't her brother's keeper. “And what if the police had come? What if they had asked
me
questions?”

Then you would have lied
,
Barrett scribbled.

That word made Nell tense.
NELL SULLIVAN IS A LIAR.
It was bad enough that someone had typed it onto her transcript, ruining her work, insulting her in the process. But now Barrett was going to join in?

“Because that's all I'm good at?” she demanded.

Barrett looked unconcerned by his sister's increasing agitation.
Well,
he wrote,
you ARE good at it.

“Oh, fuck you, Barrett!” she yelled. But rather than shocking him with her outburst, Barrett laughed instead. Nell jerked at the sleeves of her sweater, yanked it off, and threw it to the floor. The shirt she'd worn beneath it throughout the day was soaked at the armpits. She could feel a distinct line of moisture along the length of her spine. “Anyway.” She turned her back to him, trying to play it cool. “I suppose you did me a favor, if you think about it.” Glancing over her shoulder, she took in his new expression—a look of sour dissatisfaction. “That's right,” she said. “Because when I got to the office this morning, all the girls already knew about Linnie. She was front page news. They're blaming the Son of Sam.”

Barrett's perturbed look shifted into amusement. He liked that. Perhaps he had known the police were going to point the finger at Mr. Monster rather than look for another killer all along. Because really, what were the odds?

See?
he wrote.
No big deal.

“No big deal?” Nell narrowed her eyes at him. “As soon as I heard about Linnie, I lost it.”

Barrett arched an eyebrow at her in inquiry.
Lost it?

“You could have told me beforehand, don't you think? You could have at least
warned
me to prepare myself. But you let me learn about it for myself ! I kept picturing the police taking you away, and
then
who would I have left?” She was nearly yelling now. “Did you ever think of that? Did you ever stop to consider what would happen to
me
if you end up spending the rest of your life in prison?”

Barrett looked down, as if mulling that over. No, of course he hadn't considered it. But now that Nell had brought it to his attention, he looked shameful. Guilty. Nell frowned at the way his shoulders deflated. He looked undignified, and it made her feel like a wretch for disgracing him. All he'd been doing was defending her honor.

Barrett held up his notepad once more.
Keep your voice down.
The walls were thin. How ironic would it have been if Nell's freak-out was what brought the cops calling?

She sighed, took a seat at the kitchen table. “You had to
kill
her?” she asked, her tone low.

Research,
he wrote.
Wanted to see how it felt.

“For your book?” she asked.

Barrett shrugged.

“I'm not angry, Barrett,” she told him, suddenly tired from all the arguing. “You did it for me. You did it because she had been improper, unappreciative. That type of behavior has its consequences, right? Sometimes, if you're rude to the wrong person, you get a taste of your own medicine.”

Barrett raised his eyes to meet his sister's. She gave him a small smile, assuring him that she really wasn't mad. “Besides, what started out as a bad day turned into a good one. When I made that scene at the office, the girls turned to see what was wrong. I couldn't have very well said that I was afraid my brother was going to get himself arrested. I couldn't have said
that
. So, I said that Linnie and I were friends. It just tumbled out of me, and the strangest thing happened.” Nell smiled at the memory. “You should have seen them. They were like flies on a corpse. As soon as I said we were close, everyone wanted to say how sorry they were about her death, as though
I
was the one that deserved their condolences. I guess I pulled off looking pretty sad about the whole thing. Her friends were mumbling about how she had never talked about me, but what do they know anyway? They can't prove anything. Maybe I should have been an actress.”

Barrett was frowning again. He wasn't happy with Nell's confession.

“I only said the thing about me and her being friends to protect
you
, you know. And isn't that what you were doing when you did what you did? Didn't you go through with the whole thing to protect
me
?”

You should have kept your mouth shut,
he wrote, then looked away from her, not sold on her reasoning.

“Well, I don't see what you have to be upset about,” she said. “
I'm
the one that turned down an invitation to the Cabana Club.”

It was then that Barrett's eyes blazed.

He shot up from his chair, his notepad tumbling to the floor.

She could see it in his expression, the memory of their mother dancing across the deep brown of his eyes. Their sloppy drunk mother who locked them in the closet while she pulled strange men into their dead father's bed. He wore a mask of disdain, and that's when his true intentions became clear.

Yes, Barrett had killed Linnie Carter, because Linnie Carter had made Nell cry.

Yes, he'd killed her because she was an unappreciative bitch who couldn't bother with politeness.

Yes, he had wanted to see how it felt. For his book. For his art.

But mostly, Barrett had killed her because Linnie's disregard for Nell's feelings had reminded him of their mother's disregard for her own children.

He had killed her because, at her core, Linnie Carter was a carbon copy of Faye Sullivan. And Faye Sullivan was out there somewhere, alive.

“It had nothing to do with research, did it?” Nell asked. “You did it because of Mom.”

Barrett reeled around, his stare hard, wild with a rage Nell hadn't seen before. That's when the realization hit her. Nell was afraid of losing Barrett, either to a girl or the police, and Barrett was afraid of losing her too. He was afraid of Nell hanging around the girls she worked with because they were just like their matriarch. Ugly and sinful and hateful right down to their bones. But if he wiped them out, Nell didn't stand a chance of being their friend. If he killed the ones who got too friendly, they wouldn't ruin his sister, and Nell couldn't make any friends.

“You can't do that, Barrett,” she said, her newfound understanding igniting a flame of resentment deep in her chest—small, but still there. “You can't just go around killing people who remind you of her, no matter how much you want her gone.”

Barrett refused to look at her, his lack of eye contact assuring her that he'd do whatever he damn well pleased. Because of
course
he would. It didn't matter that his actions affected his sister. That was the whole point, after all. How was she supposed to change her life if Barrett cut down her opportunities?

“You're selfish.” Her tone was hard-edged. Most of the time, all she wanted was to please him, but he'd crossed a line. After all she sacrificed for him—letting him live out his dreams of being a writer. Her working full-time, while he sat around reading his books. Having to ride the dirty subway. Enduring the snide comments and judgmental looks. Dealing with that stupid bicycle gang. The least he could do was
try
to let her find some company beyond their shitty little apartment.

“What about me?” she demanded. “What about what
I
want? What about who
I
look like?” There was a resemblance. Nell had inherited their mother's mousy brown hair. If she dropped a few pounds, the thinness of her face would reflect Faye Sullivan's sharp cheekbones and weak chin. “Will you kill me too?”

Nothing.

“Barrett.”

He squared his shoulders at the sound of his name, but rather than glaring at her, he peered down at his feet. Despite his twenty-­four years, at that moment he looked like a little boy. That familiar pang of guilt crawled back into Nell's guts. She was making him feel bad again, but she couldn't just shrug and forget what he'd done. There would be other girls in Nell's life now. She hadn't thought it possible at the beginning of the day, but after Savannah's invitation, she was quite sure of it. Soon, Nell would have another chance, which meant there
would
be other girls. If she didn't put a stop to Barrett's compulsion now, she wouldn't stand a chance of doing it later.