She needed to talk to Eli. No—first, she needed to talk to Imogen. Because Imogen handled all of the weekly shipments coming into the store. That’s why she was the one who made annotations about customer requests in the sales ledger.

Daniella reached for the call button that sounded the PA system over the whole store. She tipped the metal microphone toward herself and it balanced precariously along its front edge. “Imogen. Will you please get your bald, depressed butt in here and explain something to me.”

Yelling at Imogen felt good. Took the edge off. Made Daniella feel in control. The store might be closing. Archer Junior might be committing some kind of fraud. She might be a nauseous blob, but she was a nauseous blob in charge of somebody else for the moment, and that made all the difference in the world.

“No,” came Imogen’s one-word reply. She’d shouted it from the bookstore floor.

“Immmoogeennn.” This time Daniella had tried a singsong approach. She knew it would grate on Imogen’s ears, if she knew anything at all. Besides, there weren’t customers until the store opened officially at nine.

“I’m not bald, and I’m not depressed,” Imogen shouted back. “And I’m taking my five now.”

“Imogen, I swear to God if you don’t get in here right now I will use the tiny modicum of power that I do have to get you fired.” Daniella hadn’t bothered using the store intercom. If she could hear Imogen’s shout, then Imogen could definitely hear hers.

Imogen appeared in the doorway pretty quickly after that. It was still shocking to see her missing her shoulder-length hair. Like a whole piece of the girl had suddenly gone missing. Plus, Daniella had always assumed that, under all her hair, Imogen had tons of hardware and piercings in her ears. But Imogen actually had none whatsoever. Daniella had never noticed, not with how thick Imogen’s hair had been.

Imogen raised an eyebrow. “What do you need—money for a midmorning beer run?”

“No, but funny that you should mention that. We’re missing about nine thousand dollars in inventory. I need help finding it. And you’re our girl when it comes to inventory.”

Imogen just rolled her eyes. “And you’re our girl when it comes to selling out. I’m getting Eli to deal with your hangover mood.”

Daniella felt a screech building up in the back of her throat. “I swear, Imogen. Help me figure out this discrepancy. Or, hand to God—”