I had a secret admirer with excellent taste, a pissed-off, paranoid boyfriend who carried a gun, a raging headache on stilettos named Shasta who was just now strolling in from an all-nighter, and no aspirin because my pill case was still missing. And no sex. Did I mention the no sex?

My life was awesome.

Shasta had managed to do nothing at all her first day, called in sick her second day, and now she was half an hour late for her third day. I’d begged Daryl to fire her, but he’d slinked away, mumbling something about disciplinary actions and giving chances and maybe a little something about the thickness of my personnel file.

“Why does she even bother to show up?” Tabitha whispered across the counter.

I just shook my head as I moved on to the next waiting customer. The other two E.L. beauty consultants and I were two deep at the counter and short a beauty consultant—Shasta. Estelle Landers only had a gift with purchase twice a year so we were swamped.

Shasta came over to me as I was ringing up my customer. “I’m like getting a latte? Soooo….” Her usual pixie voice was dotted with gravel—from her all-nighter, no doubt.

“Actually. No. You’re not. You were supposed to be here at nine to help restock the counter. Soooo like guess what?” I grabbed her hand and slapped a list into it. “Go to the stockroom and bring back every piece of these products we have in stock.”

“But I like need my latte?”

“No. What you need to do is breathe your smoker’s breath in the stockroom while you get these products.” I jutted out a hip and parked my hand on it, my best I mean business pose. “Like now.”

“Whatever. You don’t have to like go all bitch-faced at me?” She stomped off toward the stockroom.

“I’ll show you bitch-faced, you little—”

“Careful,” Tabitha warned, catching my raised fist. “I heard old man Stratford’s in the store today. Our numbers came in and we’re number one out all of his department stores. He’s here to find out what we’re doing different.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

She shook her head. “He started on the first floor, but he’ll be up here any minute. You punching out Shasta would not be the best first impression as a brand-new counter manager.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” And it would kinda ruin all the self-improvement progress I’ve been trying so hard to make, not to mention jeopardize my probation. But it sure would feel good. I shoved my hand in my pocket to grab my favorite lipstick so I could do a quick reapply. It was gone. “Darn it.” Not my lipstick too.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’ll see you at—” I was cut off by a huge crashing sound that rocked the floor. “What the hell? Did that come from the stockroom?”

“I think so.”

I rolled my eyes at Shasta’s stupidity. “I am so going to kill that girl.”

I ran around the counter with Tabitha on my heels. Our stockroom was in the handbag department and all of their sales staff had come over to see what had happened. I punched in the code to the door and turned the handle. The door wouldn’t budge.

“Shasta?” I called out. No answer. I turned to the crowd standing around. “Help me push the door. Something’s fallen in front of it.”

We shoved and shoved until we created a space big enough that I could poke my head through. “Oh, my God. Shasta!” I pulled my head out. “Push harder. Somebody call 9-1-1!”

We gave it everything we had and finally made enough headway that I could shove my fat behind through. Tabitha slipped easily into the stockroom behind me. It was worse up close than it had been from the doorway. Somebody behind me screamed.

One of the fifteen-foot-high metal shelving units had fallen over. I could just barely see the top of Shasta’s head. The big boxes on the higher shelves had piled down onto her and in front of the door. I started pulling boxes off of her, handing them back to the people behind me.

I finally moved the last big box. “Oh, dang.”

Behind me the gawkers gasped. Someone was crying. The shelving unit had pinned Shasta to the wall, hitting her square in the solar plexus. Her head hung on her chest, a thin line of blood seeped from her mouth.

“Shasta?”

Licking my lips, I reached out a tentative hand and felt for a pulse. Nothing. I’d seen death before when Chuck Puckett had been murdered. It really hadn’t prepared me for this. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes. I whispered a quick blessing and made the sign of the cross. I wasn’t the best person or the best Catholic, but it was all I could think to do for her.

“What’s the trouble here?” a male voice I didn’t recognize asked.

I stood up slowly and turned to the crowd that had gathered in the cramped space, thinking I should probably get everyone out of there.

An older gentleman, whose portrait hung in the executive offices of every Stratford’s Department Store, broke from the crowd and rushed forward. “Shasta?”

Oh, hell no.

He elbowed me aside and dropped to his knees. “Shasta!” He shook her. “Shasta!”

“I’m sorry—” I began.

“Don’t just stand there. Get this thing off her!” He tried to move the shelving unit, but it wouldn’t budge.

I put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Stratford, don’t. There’s no way to move it. Help is already on the way.”

“You don’t understand.” He leaned against the unit, putting his whole body into it. It didn’t shift an inch. He bent over and gripped his knees, breathing hard. “I can’t leave her like this.” He looked up at me and whispered, “She’s…she’s my daughter.”

Dread pooled, sick and thick in my belly. Oh, dang. Double dang. Shoot, frick, dang!

I’d killed the big boss’s daughter.