The Pretty Ones Page 7

  “Nell . . .” Lamont peered at her, as if searching for the answer to a question she had yet to ask. She paused, took a drag off her cigarette, and frowned before leaning back in her executive chair. It squeaked on its castors.

  Unable to stand the silence any longer, Nell blinked at her supervisor, nodded. “Yes?” She wanted out of that office, and if speaking expedited her exit, then fine. The way Lamont was looking at her made her anxious, as though she was privy to some bit of knowledge everyone else had missed.

  Like maybe she knew about Barrett.

  Like maybe she knew what he’d done.

  Like maybe that nosy bitch Mary Ann had ratted her out, not only ruining Nell’s day, but her entire life.

  “Nell, honestly, I’m a little disturbed.”

  Nell’s stomach clenched.

  “Disturbed?”

  “Well, the whole situation with Ms. Carter . . .”

  She knows.

  “Linnie.” The name tumbled off Nell’s tongue before she could hold it back.

  “Yes,” Lamont said, giving her a pointed look. “Linnie.”

  Nell frowned down at her hands. She wasn’t sure whether to pull the same act on Lamont that she’d managed to get away with on most of the girls, or whether it was wiser to wait the whole thing out. When Lamont failed to speak, Nell squeezed her eyes shut and murmured beneath her breath.

  “It’s terrible. Just, really horribly, terribly awful, don’t you think?” She opened her eyes, flicked her glance upward, then looked away almost immediately. “I hope they catch him,” she whispered.

  “Catch whom?” Lamont asked.

  Nell’s heart caught in her throat.

  Why would you have said that?

  Because she was stupid, that’s why. A stupid pig, like Porky.

  Th-th-th-that’s all, folks!

  “I don’t know.” Nell shook her head, scrambling for words. “I don’t know who did it.”

  Of course not.

  “I have no idea.”

  Why would I?

  “I just . . . who would do such a thing, Ms. Lamont?”

  Nobody I know.

  “Who would hurt someone as sweet as Linnie?”

  Lamont said nothing, her eyes not once leaving Nell’s face. Her unwavering look made Nell nervous. It was dubious, unsure—made her feel like the dirty liar she was.

  Another beat of silence passed.

  Maybe she would call the cops. Maybe that’s why she’d called Nell into her office—to interrogate her. Harriet Lamont was a go-getter. She wouldn’t leave ruining Nell’s life to a cheap girl like Mary Ann Thomas. No way. If anyone was going to end up on the news for having helped apprehend Linnie Carter’s killer, it was Lamont.

  The boss exhaled a stream of smoke. She leaned forward, her forearms sliding across the top of her lacquered desk. “The world is a crazy place, Nell. I gather you do recall being in here last week, yes?”

  Nell swallowed the wad of nerves that had gathered at the back of her throat. She managed an unsure nod. Sure, she remembered, but what did her last visit have to do with anything? “I haven’t been late,” she said. “Not since that morning. I’ve been diligent, Ms. Lamont. I’ve been catching an earlier train just to make sure, to not leave anything to chance. You’ve got to believe me, I—”

  “I believe you.” Lamont held up a hand, as if hoping the simple gesture of showing Nell her palm would calm her twitchy employee down. “This isn’t about being late. This is about what we discussed when you were sitting across from me the same way you are now.”

  Nell pinched her eyebrows together. What had they discussed? Beyond being reprimanded for her tardiness and Lamont telling her to change her life, Nell hardly remembered a word of what had been said. Lately, the headaches had made it hard to remember much.

  “You don’t recall, then, that I asked you whether you had many friends?” Lamont asked.

  The arteries of Nell’s heart tightened—a vise squeezing it from the inside out.

  “I asked you whether you have many friends, and you admitted to me that you don’t, isn’t that right?”

  Nell glared at her hands. She wouldn’t answer. Lamont would have to pry her mouth open to get her to respond.

  “Nell, a few of your coworkers find the claim that you and Linnie Carter were close a little odd.”

  Nell peered at the crystal lighter at the corner of Lamont’s desk. If she lunged for it, Lamont wouldn’t have time to react. If she smashed it against her supervisor’s head, she’d embed a corner of that lighter into the soft tissue of Lamont’s brain. Lamont would slump back in her fancy office chair. Blood would stream down her face and onto her expensive blouse. If Nell turned Lamont’s chair away from the office door, the entire secretarial pool would evacuate the building without being the wiser. Or maybe she’d tell Mary Ann that the boss wanted to see her. That hussy would discover the crime and be scarred for life. Quite possibly, she’d never be able to sleep again. End up in an asylum. Tear that pretty blond hair out one strand at a time while rocking back and forth, back and forth, Harriet Lamont’s dead, glazed-over eyes forever etched into her memory.

  “Nell?”

  Nell snapped out of her daze, looked up at Lamont’s pensive expression.

  “You told me yourself that you weren’t close with anyone here, and yet here we are. Frankly, I find it disturbing that you’d use her misfortune to your advantage.”

  No. She refused to acknowledge what Lamont was suggesting.

  No, she wouldn’t speak.

  Not in a million years.

  “Look . . .” Lamont exhaled a breath. Though, with Nell’s eyes fixed on the knees of her slacks, she couldn’t tell if her boss was sighing in dissatisfaction or exhaling another stream of smoke. “The last time you were in here, I said that I can tell you’re different from the rest of the girls. You at least remember that, don’t you?”

  Nell nodded, not lifting her eyes.

  “I told you that I could appreciate that. Now, why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know,” Nell whispered, though what she meant to say was I don’t care. She didn’t need to explain herself. Harriet Lamont may have been her supervisor, but that didn’t mean she had the right to butt into Nell’s personal affairs. And Linnie was very much a personal affair.

  “You didn’t bother to consider it?” Lamont asked. “That perhaps my appreciation for your differences is due in part to my being one of the different ones as well?”

  Nell peered at Lamont through strands of mousy brown hair.

  “You don’t get to where I am by being like everyone else, Nell, especially not if you’re a woman. I know it’s tough for you, but what you’ve done today isn’t right.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” It slid out of her throat, slippery, unable to be contained. “Mary Ann Thomas hates me, Ms. Lamont. I don’t know what she told you, but . . .” Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Nell looked down again. Shut up, she thought. The more you talk the worse you’ll make it. She knew using Linnie’s death was wrong, knew that turning a tragedy into a grab for attention was low. But it had simply happened; it had felt natural, as though Linnie’s death had been orchestrated just for her. One second, she was standing on the outside of the group trying to hear the news, and the next she was weeping into her hands and professing her sorrow for a girl she hardly knew.

  But what harm did it do? It was a little white lie. It seemed fair. Linnie Carter had hurt her—the least the unappreciative slut could do was pay her back with a bit of acclaim. So what if Linnie was dead? Nell was still alive.

  And just who was Harriet Lamont to tell Nell what she could or couldn’t do? As long as Nell did her work, Lamont didn’t have a right to meddle in her affairs. Not like this, not when it came to her social life, not when it was Lamont herself who had g
iven her the advice to make a change. Nell’s gaze darted up to Lamont’s face. Suddenly, Harriet Lamont’s rouged cheeks and red lips looked cheap. Racy. Nell guessed that she was well into her early forties, but she looked like a two-bit tramp.

  You’re no different, she thought to herself. You’re just like all the rest of them. If you were different once, you’re just a sheep now.

  “So, are you going to fire me?” The directness of Nell’s inquiry seemed to throw Lamont for a curve. The boss fussed with her cigarette, tapped ashes into an ashtray that Nell didn’t doubt was real crystal. Not like the dime-store ashtrays that dotted each desk beyond the boss’s office door.

  “What . . . fire you? No, I just . . .”

  “I don’t think I hurt anybody, did I?” she asked, emboldened by her own sense of entitlement. Linnie Carter had humiliated her, and why? Because Nell had spent her precious time and money on baking supplies and a white tablecloth and a little creamer pitcher with a toadstool on it. She’d done those things for Linnie, not for Barrett, not even for herself, really. And Linnie had thrown it back in her face. And why had Nell even tried? Because Lamont had advised her to change her life if she didn’t like it. Nell had taken that advice to heart—she’d done something different, and now Lamont wanted to scold her for it? When she had been the one to suggest it in the first place?

  No. This wasn’t right.

  Nell wouldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t be taken for a fool.

  “Well, I suppose not, but—”

  “Mary Ann hates me.” Nell cut Lamont off midsentence. “I try to fit in, but it’s hard, and Mary Ann doesn’t make it any easier. You know how it can be. You were different just like I am, right? If anyone finds out about the thing with Linnie . . .” Mary Ann may have told everyone already, but Nell didn’t care. Her coworkers could speculate all they wanted, but unless Nell confessed to lying, they’d never know for sure. “I need this job, Ms. Lamont. I really do. I can’t pay my rent without it, and—”

  “All right,” Lamont said.

  “—it’s just a shabby old place, but it’s four walls and a bed, and I really don’t know where I’d go if I couldn’t afford it.”

  “All right.” Lamont raised a hand for a second time. “Enough, Nell. I’m not going to fire you.”

  “And you won’t tell? Please, Ms. Lamont, don’t tell the girls. If they find out I made it up, I’ll never live it down. You know how they can be. It won’t happen again. Honest, it won’t. I won’t ever mention Linnie’s name again, if that’s what you want. I won’t ever even look at Mary Ann Thomas if—”

  “Okay, you can go,” Lamont said, waving Nell off, having had her fill for one afternoon. Nell gathered herself up out of the chair, but of course, Lamont couldn’t allow her to go without a final thought. “Nell, if any of the girls do give you trouble, you can come tell me. You know that, right?”

  Nell frowned at that. If the girls did give her trouble—at least, beyond the trouble they usually gave—what would she tell Lamont for? So her boss could give her another dose of shiny, sure-to-backfire advice? Nell responded with an unsure smile. “Thanks, Ms. Lamont, but I’ll be okay.” And then stepped out of the boss’s office.

  She scrutinized each desk, wondering which of the girls Mary Ann had told. Her eyes darted from coworker to coworker, faster now, frantic to pick out any girl who may have known her secret. It was only then that she noticed the difference: the girls weren’t looking at her anymore. As a matter of fact, they were avoiding looking in her direction altogether. They were all pretending to be working or busying themselves with gathering up their things. Oh sure, it looked like they were all getting ready to clock out, but she knew the truth. They were ignoring her on purpose. Nell had stepped out of an office full of sympathetic girls and stepped back into one where those girls didn’t know the meaning of compassion. Even eye contact was deemed too awkward.

  Nell Sullivan was invisible again.

  She marched back to her desk, kept her head down as she walked. Sliding into her chair, she focused on the transcription she’d been working on before Lamont had interrupted her. It had been due over an hour ago, but Nell had been too distracted to get it typed out in time. She had to finish it before she left for the day—couldn’t leave anything to chance, any reason for Lamont to change her mind and tell her to get lost for good. But the throb behind her eyes was rearing its ugly head again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she began to poke at the keys of her Selectric, hysteria bubbling deep inside her gut.

  I do exist, she thought. It’s Linnie who’s dead, not me.

  Maybe the girls were pretending Nell was a ghost because they knew . . . knew about Barrett, about what he’d done.

  No. Impossible. How could they know?

  Nobody knew because nobody could prove that Nell and Linnie hadn’t been friends. Mary Ann Thomas could tell the entire office that Nell was lying, but how could she confirm that claim? Save for the fact that Nell and Linnie hadn’t ever talked at the office—and so what?—Mary Ann had nothing to back herself up. Nell and Linnie didn’t talk because they had that kind of friendship. They could communicate without talking, could read each other’s minds like a pair of twins. They spent hours upon hours on the phone after work, so they kept to themselves while they were at work. Besides, Linnie’s other friends wouldn’t have understood.

  Nell’s heart twitched.

  Her other friends.

  What if Linnie had told one of the girls about how weird Nell had been last Friday?

  Oh no.

  Maybe she had said something about the cake, about the invitation to Nell’s apartment.

  Oh God!

  Her breath hitched in her throat.

  Her fingers stopped dead on the keys of her IBM.

  She looked at the paper that she was working on, struck by five words that appeared on a line all their own.

  NELL SULLIVAN IS A LIAR.

  She hadn’t typed that . . . had she?

  NELL SULLIVAN IS A LIAR.

  No. It hadn’t been her. It couldn’t have been.

  Someone had been messing around her desk while she had been in Lamont’s office. Probably Mary Ann or one of her lackeys.

  That was it. It had to be.

  Unable to stand it, she grabbed her purse and adjusted her sweater. If Lamont wanted to fire her for leaving without finishing her work first, then so be it. Nell couldn’t bear to spend another second in that building. Not without strangling every single girl around her. Because someone had typed out that sentence on Nell’s typewriter. Someone knew that she had lied. Someone knew what Barrett had done.

  “Nell?”

  She reeled around to look at Savannah Wheeler. For a second, she wanted to reach out and catch Mary Ann Thomas’s pretty henchfriend by her throat.

  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.”