Free The Pretty Ones by Ania Ahlborn

looking at her like that? Was Nell’s terror that obvious? Was it blinking above her head like a cheap neon sign?
    I know who did it.
    I know.
    I know . . .
    â€œWe were friends.” Nell spit out the statement. Friends, because now that Linnie was gone she couldn’t protest. As far as anyone was concerned, Nell and Linnie were best friends. Hell, Linnie and Barrett had something going on. They were sweet on each other, and he would never have hurt her. Not in a million years.
    She whipped up a story. Linnie had been due to visit Nell’s apartment just that weekend, but she hadn’t shown up and she hadn’t called. Nell had been worried sick, pacing the length of her room for two days, wondering what had happened to her closest confidante while her brother scoured New York City’s dirty streets. Thank God Nell had taken a photo of Linnie and Barrett together just before leaving for their most recent date. That, at least, had given Barrett something to flash at people after holding up his sad little cardboard sign. Have you seen this girl? And if the police asked about the photo? Stolen. Snatched right out of Barrett’s hand by a homeless bum.
    â€œWell, sorry,” Nell’s coworker said, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, a stranger reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” she repeated, as though her first apology hadn’t been enough. She said nothing more, just pulled her hand back and walked away. Except that, this time, Nell wasn’t being abandoned because she was the one who was awkward. The girl simply didn’t know what else to say.
    Elation overtook Nell’s initial distress for half a beat. That hand on her shoulder . . . it enthralled her, because it had finally happened. Someone had been touched by her misfortune. Someone had looked right at her and, rather than scowling, had been shot through with an arrow of compassion. Finally, she thought. I am human. But her delight was followed by a hiccup of her heart. A misfired beat. A punch of understanding.
    Linnie was dead.
    It was too much of a coincidence.
    Nell had lost her mind. She’d wailed in the kitchen. She’d been wronged, and Barrett had seen it all. And what did he make of it? That Linnie Carter was just like their mother.
    A liar.
    A fake.
    Linnie hadn’t wanted to eat cake, so Barrett made her eat dirt instead.
    â€œOh no,” she whispered, because what if the cops showed up at the apartment. “ Oh no . . .” What if they took him away and she was left alone? What if Barrett was hauled off to prison and Nell was left to navigate Brooklyn by herself ? It was a death sentence. She’d never survive on her own. “ Oh no! ”The words were more pronounced now, loud enough to garner the attention of a couple of passing girls. She sensed them looking. Lifted her hands to her face for dramatic effect. Peeked through her fingers to verify that they were indeed gazing upon her with a mixture of pity and concern. Mary Ann Thomas was peering at her from across the office, sizing her up. But this was Nell’s moment.
    â€œ Oh no! ” She wept the sentiment into her palms, full volume now. Because if everyone knew she and Linnie were friends, nobody would suspect that she had anything to do with Linnie’s demise. “Not Linnie,” Nell cried, not caring who heard her, not caring if the entire office ended up gaping. “Not my Linnie. Not my friend!”
    .   .   .
    Lamont refused to call it a day. Despite the tragedy, there was still work to be done. Phones had to be answered. Transcriptions had to be typed. They were all forced back into their chairs, not because Lamont was worried about how an empty office on a busy Monday would look, but because letting all the girls go would be bad for morale. Let them go, and it made Linnie Carter’s death real. Let them go, and