“I’m sorry to disturb your holiday weekend, Ms. Stark. I just wanted to be sure that I got in touch with you before the funeral. Mrs. Paulsen’s instructions were very specific.”
“She asked you to call me?”
“I’d like to meet with you before the funeral, if you’re available.”
The ball in her stomach tightened. “Just me?”
“You and three others.”
She relaxed slightly. “Kate, Julie, and Rebecca?”
“That’s right. You’re all friends, I understand?”
“Yes. Very good friends.” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Why couldn’t she feel about her own family the way she felt about her friends?
“Would you mind coming by at nine-thirty on Tuesday? That should give you enough time to prepare for the service.” He gave her the address.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”
Another knock on the bathroom door. “Libbie, the candles are lit. Let’s go. Your poor sister is waiting for everyone to sing.”
Libbie tucked her phone in her pocket and left the bathroom. Everyone was gathered around the island in the kitchen, where a vanilla cake was adorned with pastel-colored candles.
“One, two, three,” her mother prompted. Her phone was in her hand, capturing the moment. Libbie knew exactly what she’d see later on her mother’s Facebook page. Happy birthday to the best daughter a mother could ask for. It was the same every year and every year, Libbie felt a pang of hurt. She’d mentioned it to Chris once, who’d told her she was being ‘dramatic,’ and that all mothers told their kids they were the best. Except Libbie’s mother had never written that on Libbie’s birthday. Not once.
They sang Happy Birthday, and Libbie mouthed the words, unable to make a sound. The call from the lawyer had rattled her, even though he hadn’t said anything bad. She couldn’t wait to text the other women and find out what they knew.
Libbie barely touched her cake and hoped no one noticed. It was the type of thing her mother liked to comment on. I guess it wasn’t up to your standards was a Delia favorite. A far worse crime would be to reject the piece of cake altogether. That led to questions about diets and exercise that Libbie couldn’t handle right now.
The moment the clock struck eight, Libbie motioned to her kids that it was time to go. She hugged Emily and wished her a happy birthday one last time before the three of them exited the house.
“Are you dropping us back at Dad’s?” Josh asked on the way to the car.
“It’s his weekend.”
“Harry has been waking up in the night. It’s kind of annoying.”
Libbie smiled. “At least your time there is limited. Imagine how your dad and stepmom feel.”
Courtney fell in step beside her mother. “Are you okay, Mom?”
Libbie cut a glance at her. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Grandma said you seemed even more miserable than usual. I told her it was probably Inga, but she seemed to think it was more than that.”
Libbie scoffed. “More than the death of my good friend?” She released a long breath. “If your grandmother was that concerned, she could have asked me herself instead of making the remark to her thirteen-year-old granddaughter.”
Libbie immediately regretted saying that to her daughter. She tried her best to shield the kids from her family issues.
Courtney wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. “Emily seemed to like her present.”
“Grandma said she saw it on sale in town,” Josh added.
Libbie flinched. She had, in fact, bought it on sale, but she wasn’t sure why it mattered to her mother what she paid for it. Her sister loved it and that was the important part.
“I guess she thinks true love means paying full price,” Courtney said.
Libbie laughed at the absurdity of it, and, yet, there was a ring of truth to her daughter’s statement. She opened the driver’s side door with a weary hand. “Come on, kids. Let’s stick a fork in this day and call it done.”
Chapter Four
To Libbie’s relief, Maria cancelled her appointment with the plastic surgeon after a fight with her boyfriend. That meant Libbie had enough time to shower and dress for the funeral, without being late for the meeting with the lawyer. If there was any kind of work that needed to be done on behalf of Inga’s estate, she didn’t want the other women to have to handle it alone. She made a mental list of possibilities and felt her stomach clench as she tried to figure out which ones she could tackle. She didn’t want to be the weak link in the chain.
Ethan Townsend’s office was in a professional complex on Timber Trail. Libbie had been here once before when she’d needed to see a dermatologist about discolored freckles. They were benign, which hadn’t surprised Libbie because she was vigilant about sunscreen. When she’d said as much to the dermatologist, Dr. Winston explained that most of Libbie’s sun damage had happened in childhood, and there was precious little she could do about it now. The sunscreen would help prevent new damage, of course, but much of the damage happened years ago and might not reveal itself until later in life.
Her friends were already in the waiting area when she arrived. Each woman wore a tasteful black dress but with varying accessories. Libbie had declined to wear jewelry at all, not wanting to look like she’d tried too hard. It was a funeral, not a fashion show.
“I feel like there should be a different dress code for summer funerals,” Julie said, plucking the fabric of her dress away from her skin. “Black is the worst.”
“You should’ve worn your pearls,” Kate said.
Libbie’s fingers drifted to her bare neckline. “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to look too fancy.”
“It isn’t a wedding where you run the risk of outshining a bride,” Kate said. “Pretty much everyone outshines a corpse.”
“Kate!” Julie’s admonishment rang out in the tiny waiting area.
“Oh, please, Inga would’ve laughed,” Kate said.
Their exchange was interrupted by the opening of the office door. A lustrous head of silver hair poked through the doorway. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, but his hair was gloriously tousled and fell well past his neck. Libbie hadn’t realized she was a fan of his look until this very moment.
“You must be here for Inga Paulsen,” he said.
He was what Kate would describe as a silver fox. With his dark blue suit, colorful tie, and healthy glowing skin, he looked like an advertisement for a Successful Adult Man. She immediately conjured an image of Chris in his boxer shorts in the kitchen, standing amidst a mess he’d made but failed to clean up. The Successful Adult Man seemed like the type to wipe down the counters and load the dishwasher after cooking her breakfast. Or maybe that was just Libbie’s fantasy of a good partner.
Kate was the first on her feet. She strode forward and shook his hand. “I’m Kate Golden.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ethan Townsend.”
“Julie Duncan.”
“Rebecca Angelos.”
Libbie was the last one to stand and shake his hand. As his warm hand clasped hers, she suddenly felt inept and couldn’t seem to find her voice.
“And you must be Elizabeth,” he said, smiling at her.
His eyes crinkled in the corners in a way that was both attractive and infuriating. When Libbie’s eyes crinkled in the corners, they were crow’s feet, a sign of middle age that she couldn’t hide without the help of a plastic surgeon. The Successful Adult Man, however, didn’t have to hide. He could flaunt his glossy silver hair and wrinkles with a charming smile, while Libbie’s colorist was on her birthday and Christmas card list. Libbie recognized that part of her reaction was due to her internal misogyny. She only knew the term because Kate had brought a book to cocktail club last year that had opened Libbie’s eyes to the way women treat each other. She was relieved to learn that she didn’t fall into most of the traps, but, as with anyone, there were a few areas ripe for improvement.
�
��Libbie,” she corrected him. “Everyone calls me Libbie.”
“Nice to meet you, Libbie.” He motioned for them to join him in the office where four chairs were carefully arranged in a semi-circle in front of the desk. “I appreciate you coming before the funeral. I know time is of the essence, but Inga was insistent that you receive her assets as soon as possible after her death.”
“Why? Did she leave us frozen shrimp or something?” Rebecca slumped against her chair the moment the words left her mouth. “Sorry. I’m terrible in uncomfortable situations.”
Libbie patted her thigh. “You are not,” she whispered.
Libbie was far worse, except she tended to say nothing at all. She was too afraid of saying the wrong thing, which had the effect of making the other person feel like she didn’t care. It wasn’t an ideal dynamic.
Ethan opened a file on his desk. “Let’s get started so we can get you out of here. I don’t want to add to your stress on such an emotional day.”
Libbie sighed inwardly. Ethan Townsend seemed more like a compassionate doctor than a lawyer. Weren’t they supposed to be stuffy and devoid of personality? That was what she’d gleaned from television, anyway.
He lifted a document from the file. “As I’m sure you know, Inga Paulsen was a witch.”
“That’s rude,” Kate interjected. “She was a lovely woman who lived an incredible life.”
The lawyer chuckled. “I’m not casting aspersions, Mrs. Golden. Inga identified as a witch. I thought you knew.”
The women exchanged awkward glances.
“Well, we know she was an eccentric woman,” Julie said carefully.
Kate leaned forward. “Define witch.”
Ethan seemed at a loss for words. “According to Inga, she had certain…abilities.” He frowned. “You’re sure she never discussed this with you?”
Kate barked a short laugh. “No. I definitely would’ve remembered a conversation like that, no matter how many cocktails we consumed in a night.”
Ethan scratched the back of his head and chuckled awkwardly. “Okay, I guess I’ll take things a little more slowly then. Inga Paulsen was a registered witch and, as such, that gave her the right under Article III, Section 2(b) of the Witch’s Covenant to distribute her assets as she deemed fit.”
Rebecca burst into laughter. “This is a prank, right? Inga paid you to do this after she died.” She looked at the other women. “Can’t you just see Inga setting this up ahead of time?”
“It’s not like she knew she was going to die of a heart attack in the middle of our cocktail club,” Kate said.
“She still could’ve arranged it for an indefinite date.” Rebecca turned back to Ethan. “Are you even a real lawyer, or do you rent this place for when you need to perform?” Her eyes widened. “Omigod, are you a stripper?”
Libbie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. That would explain his handsome looks.
Ethan splayed his hands. “Ladies, I assure you this is all very real. If I didn’t have a valid law license, I’d have a lot of explaining to do right now, starting with my mother, who’s been telling people how proud she is of her son since about 1975.”
Libbie suppressed a smile.
“You’re in your forties?” Julie asked.
“No, fifties,” he said, “but that was around the year my mother was impressed enough to make a fuss. I think it might’ve been my finger-painting skills.”
Kate set her handbag on the floor next to her chair, a move Libbie recognized. Shit was about to get real.
“Mr. Townsend, I consider myself an educated woman,” Kate said. “I graduated from an Ivy League institution and have clients all over the world.” She offered him an indulgent smile. “Forgive my ignorance, but what is the Witch’s Covenant, and why have I never heard of it?”
“No one knows the origin of the covenant, only that it exists, and that women all over the world are both protected by and subject to its provisions.” Ethan paused. “As to why you, personally, haven’t heard of it, I can only guess that your reading habits don’t extend to the paranormal.”
Kate straightened her shoulders. “I’ll have you know that I read Twilight, the same as every other middle-aged woman in America.”
“Those were vampires,” Julie whispered. “That sparkled.”
Ethan smiled. “I’ll be honest, this was all news to me when I first learned of it, but the due diligence has been done, and it’s all very real.”
The women fell silent as they digested the news. Libbie realized she was digging her fingernails into her palm and forced herself to relax.
“What does this mean?” Kate asked. “Inga ran around with sage and performed bonfire rituals in the woods during a blue moon?”
Ethan shook his head. “I can’t say with certainty, but I can see Inga doing that and more.”
“Probably naked too,” Julie added.
“Sounds about right,” Rebecca said.
Everyone laughed, which helped ease the tension in the room.
“How is Inga’s witch status relevant to us?” Kate asked. “If she wanted us to know, why didn’t she tell us?”
“That I can’t answer.” Ethan threaded his fingers on the desk, and Libbie noticed that he wasn’t wearing a ring. She sucked in a breath, horrified that she’d notice such a thing, not only because of Chris but because they were here for such a somber reason.
“Are you okay?” Julie asked.
Libbie nodded. “Sorry, I’m just feeling stressed.”
Kate reached over and squeezed her hand. “We all are. It’s a tough day.”
Libbie knew that Kate was being kind. Her friend never seemed to get anxious or worked up about anything. Even her anger had a precision about it, the way a paring knife deveins a shrimp. Libbie’s emotions were more of the tangled-ball-of-yarn variety, complete with frayed edges and loose threads.
“I’ll give you the gist of what I know,” Ethan began. “Witches aren’t born—they’re created. There are no familial covens. No genetics involved.”
Libbie clasped her hands in her lap, thinking.
“Not born? Is this like a ‘which came first, the chicken or egg thing?’” Julie asked.
Ethan continued without answering. “Witches are made from pieces of other witches, their spirits passed from one generation to the next to form a true sisterhood.” He grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t had to give this speech before, and I feel like I’m mansplaining sisterhood to four women. I should have practiced out loud to the bathroom mirror.”
Libbie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She knew that feeling all too well.
“So you’re saying Inga wasn’t born a witch, but became one later?” Rebecca asked.
“That’s my understanding. At some point in Inga’s life, she crossed paths with a witch who decided Inga was worthy of receiving her assets someday.” He held out his hands. “And, now, Inga is sharing hers with you.”
“Is it tax deductible?” Kate asked. “Because we’re really close to the next income threshold…”
Ethan chuckled. “It’s not that kind of gift, Mrs. Golden. You won’t claim it on your tax returns.”
“But you said she was dividing her assets among us,” Kate said.
Rebecca touched Kate’s arm. “Let him finish, Kate. Then we’ll ask questions.”
“I think you could’ve had a career as a lawyer,” Ethan said, offering Kate an easygoing smile.
“As a matter of fact, I took the LSATs,” Kate said. “I decided it wasn’t the kind of life I wanted, to be chained to a desk all day.” She paused. “No offense.”
“None taken. We’re a despised group, even without the corporate prisoner references.” He referred to the document. “As you know, Inga had four cats. In her will, she’s left one to each of you. Eliza to Elizabeth Stark. Cat-Cat to Katherine Golden. Angelica to Rebecca Angelos, and Peggy to Julie Duncan.”
Julie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Oh, wow. She left Aunt Pe
ggy to me?”
Libbie looked at her sideways. “You mean Peggy?”
Julie frowned. “I thought she was called Aunt Peggy.”
The other women laughed. “That’s only because she’s always named last in the sentence,” Kate said. “And Peggy.”
“She also left you this.” Ethan reached into a desk drawer and produced a glass jar with a fabric-covered lid. It reminded Libbie of jam jars in the country store, except the fabric was dark blue and covered with white stars.
Kate leaned forward and accepted the jar. “An empty jar?”
“She left a note with it.” He handed over a sealed envelope, which Kate also accepted on behalf of the group.
“I hope it explains what she wants us to do with it,” Kate said.
“Maybe we’re supposed to grow a witchy plant in it or something,” Libbie suggested. “Then each take turns caring for it.”
“That rules me out,” Julie said with a laugh. “I’ll murder it overnight.”
“What if it’s for her ashes?” Libbie asked. They knew that Inga wanted to be cremated and her ashes scattered in the forest not far from the lake. It was something she’d mentioned multiple times over the years.
“Why don’t we go back to my place and read the letter together before the funeral?” Kate asked.
The lawyer held up a finger. “Actually, she left you the key to her house as well. Bonnie Shellstrop is going to handle the sale, but Inga also wanted you to have the contents of her liquor cabinet before that happens.”
Kate laughed. “She knew us well.”
“You can leave the key in the drop box after you’ve finished,” he said. “It should already be there.”
Rebecca whistled. “Bonnie moves fast.”
“No kidding. Have you ever seen her in a bar full of eligible men?” Julie said. “She’s like the Road Runner in a tight skirt.”
Kate hugged the jar to her chest. “I guess we should head over there now before the funeral starts.”
“The cats will need to be fed and the litter box cleaned,” Rebecca said.
“I’ll be asking for your help later, Rebecca,” Kate said. “I don’t know the first thing about owning a cat.”
Magic Uncorked: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Magic Cocktail Club Book 1) Page 4