“She killed him.”

“That was my first thought too,” said Idra. “But it turns out he never existed.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She called herself Mrs. to get more respect.”

“Oh God,” said Carmen. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Oh God, I’m going to turn into her.”

“Well, she does know a lot about running shops. You should hit her up for tips.”

“Haha, no way. Oh my God. Can you imagine? Christ, I’m not that desperate. Anyway, it’s a big city. What are the chances of my bumping into her?”

The doorbell tinged and a broad shadow filled the room.

“Oh, you are kidding . . .” said Carmen into the phone. “Idra, I’m going to kill you.”

“Don’t be daft; it’ll help,” said Idra, not sounding remotely apologetic. “Gotta go—there’s a team of really hot lawyers in for a business lunch, and I am going to get them extremely drunk and smile for tips and possibly marry at least two of them. Fa-la-la-la-la la-la la la!”

And she was gone.

Carmen looked up in the dusty room.

“I heard you were here,” said Mrs. Marsh, folding her arms.

Don’t be ridiculous, Carmen said to herself. There’s nothing to be scared of. She can’t sack you again.

She eyed Mrs. Marsh back, feeling as if she’d been summoned by the headmistress.

“Okay. Do you want to buy a book?” She had seen Mrs. Marsh read Regency romances with passionate women in the arms of dukes and lords.

Mrs. Marsh raised her eyebrows. “So this is a shop?”

“What did you think it was?”

“Storage of some kind.”

“Well, it is a shop, and I’m very busy,” lied Carmen.

Mrs. Marsh tutted loudly. Carmen rolled her eyes.

“This place is a disgrace. I mean, look at it.”

“Mrs. Marsh, I don’t think you work here?” It struck Carmen as ridiculous that she didn’t actually know Mrs. Marsh’s first name.

“Well, obviously,” said Mrs. Marsh. “Because if I did, it would be nothing like this.”

“Actually, I’m here to revamp it,” said Carmen proudly. “I’m here to do a kind of consulting interior design exercise.”

She felt annoyed with herself for showing off, but she wasn’t going to be talked down to by the malevolent ghost of her old boss, not here and not anywhere.

Mrs. Marsh stepped forward, ran her finger along a line of books for dust, and found plenty.

“So where are you going to start?” she said. “Remember what I told you?”

Carmen felt annoyed. Mrs. Marsh had various retail mantras she was always trying to instill in them, and she and Idra had made a point of completely ignoring them and sniggering behind her back.

“What have I always told you?”

It was definitely something beginning with “C.” Crappy, cloudy, and cluttered? Cheap, cheery, and crud? Carmen frowned.