Pretty Wanted Read Online Free Page A

the freeway.
    “Can I have that book?” I asked Aidan. In his backpack was a notebook where I’d been keeping track of all the things we’d “borrowed” along the way, an IOU list so I could eventually send payment of some kind. I wanted to jot down the library before I forgot.
    When I was done, I handed it back to him. Outside my window, I could see we were leaving the central part of the city and I began to feel nervous. Where was this cab taking us? What if we were headed to the boonies? What if I didn’t like what I found out about her? Then what?
    You knew what you were getting into, Willa. You just have to take what comes. Not that this internal dialogue made me feel any better.
    There were lots of truths I’d learned recently that I hadn’t exactly relished. Like the fact that Leslie was my sister (technically half sister, since we had different fathers), or the fact that she and our real mom were entangled with some unsavory folks. Or the fact that the money we’d lived on my whole life was most likely dirty. But I’d survived, hadn’t I? I was still here. Wiser and maybe a tad more jaded, but still here.
    “There’s the Arch,” Aidan said, pointing out the window behind us. We could see the uppermost bend of it from the backseat. I traced it with my finger. It seemed like a good sign, somehow, like it was guiding us where we needed to be. Like the North Star or a little blue GPS dot.
    When we turned to face front again, the scenery on our right was changing to a huge open park. Overhead, we saw a billboard for the World Bird Sanctuary, with a cheerful illustration of an owl—it was the kind of place Leslie and I would have visited if we’d been here on vacation. She was always into the nature-type spots.
    Then the cab wheeled off onto a wider boulevard. We passed a number of neat houses with red and green mansard roofs, all with well-kept lawns, and I exhaled, my spirits lifting again. I saw signs for Washington University, and we were moving closer to what looked like a busy downtown area, with people everywhere.
    Finally, the cab pulled up in front of a three-story U-shaped building with a white stucco front and a circular front drive. The style was vaguely French, from an era when people seemed to care much more about detail.
    “Valet parking,” Aidan said, approving. “Classy.”
    We paid for the cab and then approached the sliding-glass front doors.
    “Now what?” Aidan asked. “Should we Sly Fox our way in?”
    I shook my head. “No. We go in like normal people.”
    I wasn’t above Sly Foxing when we had to but we were here for legitimate reasons. Besides, it wasn’t a high-security type of place, probably because it was in the kind of neighborhood where thieves or break-ins didn’t seem to be a major concern.
    Except, of course, the night she was killed. They could have used more guards then. I gulped down my unease.
    The building was nice, though. Really nice. I could see why she would have wanted to live here. The swishing doors revealed a lobby of sorts, fronted by matching potted plants and a wall of mailboxes. Signs pointed to the gym, pool and sauna area, the courtyard garden, as well as an in-house dry cleaner. There was a front desk, but the concierge behind it was busy talking to what looked like a couple of tenants. Easy enough.
    My mother’s unit was 3B. The elevator opened to the third floor where the hall was laid with shiny hardwood floors and a narrow strip of fresh Persian carpeting. I’d lived here once, too, I realized. Not that I would remember anything—it was just the first few months of my life. But it was strange to think about, that I could add this to the list of places Leslie and I had called home. Leslie still remembered it, I was sure. How could she forget the place where she found our mom . . .?
    I shuddered, quickly brushing the thought away again.
    We would start with some neighbors. We found 3C and knocked. A tired-looking woman in workout clothes