Magic Uncorked: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Magic Cocktail Club Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  “And, in this case, retiring is…death?” Julie appeared uncertain.

  “Yes. Inga died and passed her witch-related assets on to us,” Libbie said. “And someday we’ll pass our assets on to others.”

  Kate tapped the letter on the coffee table. “Except we don’t know what those assets are, and she didn’t seem inclined to tell us.”

  “I hope I can turn people into toads,” Julie said.

  “Would you really do that?” Libbie asked. “They might get run over or drown in the lake before you can change them back.”

  Julie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe only a few select people.”

  “I’m not sure about Dread Pirate Witches,” Rebecca said. “If we’re sharing her spirit, I think it makes us more like soul sisters.”

  Libbie liked that idea, too. “I don’t care what label we use. I just can’t sit in this position anymore.” Her knees cracked loudly as she rose to her feet.

  Rebecca laughed. “I was waiting for someone else to say it first.” She used the table to pull herself upright.

  “Cramp,” Julie moaned and limped to the wall to try to stretch her calf and foot.

  “You need more potassium,” Kate said. She was the only one able to rise gracefully without a crack or cramp.

  Julie craned her neck to look at them, still stretching. “You saying it fifty times doesn’t make it true. There’s nothing wrong with my diet. It’s my knotty muscles.”

  “Then try yoga,” Kate said.

  Julie hobbled back to the coffee table. “I’d rather eat a pretzel than be one.”

  Rebecca smiled. “You crack like a glow stick. Might as well glow like one.”

  “This is crazy,” Julie said. “And we’re crazy for going along with it.”

  “Either way, Inga wanted this. As her friends, I say we roll with it,” Kate said.

  “Okay, so what now?” Rebecca prompted.

  Kate glanced to the doorway. “I guess we should divide the contents of the liquor cabinet. Those are the real assets.”

  “And the cats,” Rebecca said, inclining her head toward the couch where all four cats were now asleep.

  “I have a question,” Libbie said. “How did she get her spirit, or whatever it is, into the jar before she died? Does that mean she gave it up early?”

  “You’re thinking too hard about this,” Kate said. “The more I think about it, the more I think the jar was meant to be symbolic.”

  “Then how do you explain the tingling and the smell?” Libbie countered.

  “It’s like that psychology experiment when a group of people think they’ve experienced the same event, but they all imagined it.” Kate snapped her fingers.

  “No, I definitely felt something,” Libbie said. There was no way she’d imagined it.

  “I’m not sure,” Rebecca said. “Maybe it was something like mass hysteria.”

  “We glowed,” Libbie insisted. “We all saw it. There’s no point in denying it now.”

  “If anyone manages to turn someone into a toad, let me know.” Kate swept her handbag off the floor and slung it over her shoulder. “In the meantime, I call dibs on the tequila.”

  Chapter Six

  Libbie was glad she’d thought to ask Rebecca for advice on the best way to introduce Eliza to Hercules. It was handy having an expert on speed dial. Courtney was thrilled to meet the new member of the household and seemed to claim her as her own from the moment Libbie walked through the door, which worked out because Eliza’s introduction to the household involved confinement to Courtney’s room. Rebecca had instructed them to feed Eliza on one side of the bedroom door and Hercules in the hallway on the other side of the door so each had a chance to get used to the other’s smell.

  “You’re not actually going to keep it, are you?” Chris looked at her askance from the kitchen table.

  “Keep her and, yes, that’s the plan.” Libbie opened the cabinet for a glass and filled it with water. She felt thirsty, as though she’d been outside inhaling dusty air all day.

  “We didn’t agree to a cat. You should’ve asked me first.”

  Libbie swallowed a mouthful of water. “I didn’t exactly plan for my friend to die and leave me a cat in her will.” She noticed a dirty pan on the stove and realized that he’d eaten dinner without her. “Would it have killed you to cook enough for me so that I don’t have to make something?”

  Chris looked startled by the question. “I guess I didn’t think about it.”

  “I always cook enough for you. Why wouldn’t it occur to you to do the same for me?”

  His mouth opened and closed, like a fish on a hook. “What’s gotten into you? Are you upset about your friend? I know it’s not your period.”

  Libbie glared at him. “Of course, I’m upset about my friend, but that’s not what this is about.” Libbie listened for a moment to make sure her daughter wasn’t within earshot. “I think you take me for granted. I think it would be nice if you made me breakfast on occasion, or any meal for that matter. I think it would’ve made sense for you to get a job this summer, even if it was part-time. We’re not destitute, but we’re not exactly growing money on trees, either.”

  Chris narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk?”

  Libbie resisted the urge to grab the dirty pan from the stovetop and hit him over the head with it. “No, Chris. I’m not drunk. I’m communicating my feelings, something I should’ve been doing long before now.”

  Chris pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

  “You’ve had a three-year grace period, and that’s on me, but I’d like to discuss it now.” She leaned her back against the counter, the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. “This doesn’t have to be one-sided. If there’s any issue you’d like to raise, I’ll listen.”

  He swaggered toward her. “The only issue I’d like to raise is when did you become such a nagging bitch?” He didn’t await a reply. He simply turned and stomped out of the house.

  “That’s it?” she called after him. “I voice my opinion once in three years and you’re opting out of the conversation?”

  Was their relationship really that fragile that the second she asserted herself, he was gone? She continued to stand there, rooted to the floor, until she felt a tickling sensation on her ankle. She glanced down to see Eliza weaving between her feet.

  The cat looked up at her. “Meow.”

  “Meow, indeed.”

  Eliza jumped onto the counter and knocked into the blank book Libbie had received from Inga.

  “That’s a good idea, Eliza. If I can’t communicate my feelings, I can write about them.” Libbie opened the journal, intending to write her first entry. To her surprise, the first page was no longer blank. She blinked rapidly, wondering if she’d somehow skipped over this page when she’d first received the book.

  Eliza dipped her head to examine the page, and Libbie gently shifted her aside for a better view. “A cocktail recipe?” It seemed appropriate, although there was no title, and she didn’t recognize what the result would be from the ingredients.

  She checked the cabinets to see if she had all the necessary items. Then she remembered the box with her share of Inga’s liquor cabinet and went in the garage to investigate. She was pleased to find a bottle of light rum as well as dark rum. Another ingredient she recognized—only because it grew in her garden—was Osmunda regalis, the Latin name for Royal Fern or Flowering Fern. Libbie wouldn’t have thought to add a plant like that to a cocktail, but, she knew that if Inga had anything to do with the recipe, then it would be a masterpiece. She snipped off a frond from the fern flowering in the garden, added it to the simple syrup recipe, and let it steep for twenty minutes after boiling. Two teaspoons of lime juice would round off the recipe.

  “What are you making for dinner?” Courtney asked. She sniffed the air as she drew closer to the stove. “It smells sweet.”

  “This isn’t dinner, honey. It’s a recipe that Inga l
eft for me. I thought I would honor her by making it now.”

  Courtney smiled. “I think she’d like that.”

  “I’m sorry it’s so late. Let me see what I can whip up.”

  “What about Chris?”

  Libbie realized that she’d been so intent on the recipe that she’d forgotten all about her uncomfortable confrontation with Chris. “He already ate.”

  “Should we wait for Josh?”

  “He won’t be home until late. He was going over to Hugo’s after work.”

  Courtney gripped her mother’s arm. “Can we have breakfast dinner? Please?”

  Libbie glanced at the pan of simple syrup that was now cooling. “Sure, why not?” She made a cheese omelette (that seemed more cheese than omelette) and sausages, Courtney’s favorite. She watched as Courtney heaped ketchup all over the food. She’d never seen anyone as enamored of ketchup as her daughter. She pictured her as a grown woman, squeezing two teaspoons of ketchup into her cocktails. She’d probably love a Bloody Mary, although Libbie wasn’t a fan.

  After dinner, Libbie removed the fern leaves from the syrup, combined the ingredients in a shaker, and strained them into a small rocks glass over ice. She settled on the patio and took her first sip as a setting sun filtered ribbons of brilliant pink and orange through the trees. She sat there until she was bathed in darkness and marveled at the diamonds fixed in the sky. Hercules sprawled at her feet and, at some point, Eliza appeared and curled up in her lap. Josh poked his head outside to say he was home and going to bed. Libbie said good night, her empty glass still clutched in her hand. Her mind was elsewhere, a place she didn’t recognize but was content to dwell there for the evening. By the time she reentered the house, it was clear that Chris wasn’t coming home tonight. It occurred to Libbie as she changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth that she didn’t really care.

  Libbie woke up the next morning feeling more energized than she had in years. She felt good. There was, of course, the empty space in the bed beside her. She didn’t think to check her phone until she was downstairs eating breakfast. There was one text from Chris.

  Is this a mood swing?

  Libbie deleted the message without responding. She’d deal with him later. She stuck to her routine, taking the kayak around one leaf of the lake, and returned to shower and dress for work.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Josh said. He’d caught her whistling as she enjoyed a second cup of coffee.

  “I had a good night’s sleep,” she said. In fact, she had. No insomnia. No bad dreams. Just blissful slumber.

  “I didn’t,” Courtney said. “I could hear all the crickets.”

  “Then sleep with your window closed,” Josh chided her.

  “I like the breeze when it’s not humid.”

  “Then don’t complain about the crickets.”

  Libbie was barely conscious of their bickering. She felt alive and very much in her own skin. She didn’t know how to explain it any better than that.

  On the drive to work, she even rolled down her window and sang along to the music without worrying whether any passing drivers would laugh at her. The traffic gods had smiled upon her today. There were no accidents or traffic jams and she hit every green light between home and Basecamp.

  She strode through the restaurant with an air of confidence she didn’t realize she possessed. She was going to try again to speak to Joe. She’d even come up with an idea on how to improve the meatloaf recipe without ditching it completely if he was too afraid to make a drastic change, although she truly felt that a drastic change was what Basecamp needed to survive. She’d heard enough customer feedback and listened to Joe’s complaints about profit and losses to know that much.

  “Hey, Libbie,” Luis greeted her.

  “How are you today, Luis? Is Joe around?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Libbie set aside her disappointment and got to work. She decided to make one of her own recipes before the kitchen got too busy, so that Joe could sample it for himself and decide. She figured he’d be more receptive to actions than words.

  By the time business picked up, Libbie had managed to finish her spin on meatloaf and kept it warm for whenever Joe decided to grace them with his presence. She brightened when he finally entered the kitchen on the way to his office.

  “Joe, do you have a minute?”

  He halted to look at her. “What’s up? You’re not going to ask for another day off, are you? Because I don’t have time to fiddle with the schedule.”

  “No, I’d like you to try something.” She grabbed a pot holder and removed the dish from the warming drawer. “I’ve been working on some new recipes that I think would be great additions to the menu.”

  His gaze darted to the dish in her hand. “What is that?”

  “It’s a new take on classic meatloaf. I thought it might be nice to shake things up a little. Excite the customers’ palates.” She set the plate on the counter between them. “Try it and let me know what you think.”

  Joe didn’t move for a fork. In fact, he didn’t move at all. “What’s wrong with classic meatloaf?”

  At this point, Luis and the dishwasher took the opportunity to slide out of Joe’s view.

  Libbie stood her ground, determined to get through her pitch this time. “Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just that I have a lot of exciting ideas for the menu, and I think it would be a nice change to stretch our limits a little. See what the customers think, but first I’d like to know what you think.” She nodded to the meatloaf, which looked pretty damn good from where she stood.

  Joe folded his arms and pinned her with a menacing look. “Listen up, buttercup. I’m the king of this castle, you get me? If I tell the serving wenches to deliver ale, they deliver ale. If I tell the kitchen wench to make my meatloaf my way, she makes a goddamn meatloaf my way, and she doesn’t say boo about it.” He shook a chubby finger at her. “Seen not heard, remember that.”

  Libbie didn’t hesitate. Maybe Joe was afraid to make a drastic change, but she wasn’t. Not anymore. “I’m nobody’s wench.” She removed her apron and tossed it at her boss. “I’m done.”

  “You’re not done,” Joe said. “I own this place, and I say when you can leave.”

  “You own this place, but you don’t own me. I quit.”

  Joe gaped at her. “You can’t quit.”

  “Of course I can. I just did.”

  He glowered at her from beneath his prominent brow. “When you finish your shift, then I’ll fire you. In the meantime, put your apron back on. There are customers out there waiting for their food.”

  “Then I guess you’d better figure out how to make it because I’m no longer employed here.” Libbie walked straight out the kitchen door that emptied into the parking lot and up to her car, her legs moving with long, confident strides. When she opened the door and slid behind the wheel, she expected her hands to be shaking, but they weren’t. They were perfectly still. Libbie was in control of her body. Of her life.

  She sat in the car and replied to Chris’s earlier text. Not a mood swing. A mood makeover. Btw, quit my job. See you at home.

  Smiling, she started the car and drove away, leaving Basecamp behind.

  Chapter Seven

  Libbie stopped by Kate’s on the way home, desperate to share the news with her best friend. She barely made it through the door before the words came tumbling out. By the time they reached the kitchen, Libbie had finished. It was only then that Libbie noticed Kate’s perfectly styled hair and makeup.

  “I didn’t interrupt a recording, did I?” she asked, not that there was anything she could do about it now.

  “No, it’s fine. I’d just finished.”

  Libbie stood on Kate’s brick patio with a glass of unsweetened iced tea and admired the view of the lake. It didn’t matter how many times she’d been here over the years, she always stopped to appreciate the unique vantage point. Kate’s house was nestled on an inlet between two of the lake’s ‘clo
ver leaf’ formations, so she had a more expansive view than most.

  Libbie drew a long breath to make up for the breaths she’d failed to take while speed-talking her way through the story. “Sorry, I know I should’ve texted first. I was just so amped up.”

  “That’s understandable. I mean, it’s a big deal. You’ve worked there for years.”

  “I know, right? How many years have I wasted on Joe? On Chris?” Libbie had spent years trying to make herself count. To be seen and heard. No more.

  Kate leaned her elbows on the island. “I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but I’ll ask you what I ask all my clients when they want to make a life change—how are you going to pay bills? Insurance?”

  “The kids and I are still covered by Nick’s insurance,” she said. That was one good thing her lawyer had insisted on during the divorce proceedings. “I’ve been making regular deposits into savings. It’s not a lot, but it should be enough to get me through the summer while I get set up.”

  “Set up? You sound like you already have something in mind.”

  Libbie squared her shoulders. “I do. I thought of it on the drive home. I’ve been wanting to create my own dishes for ages, right?”

  Kate nodded. “You must have an infinite number of menus by now.”

  “Right, so I’ll start my own catering business. You know how busy summers are at the lake. Families don’t want to cook. They’re here to relax and enjoy their time together. I can help them with that.”

  Kate studied her. “Is this because of Inga’s death? Are you having some kind of midlife crisis?”

  “No, why would you even suggest that?”

  “I don’t know. You’re fighting with Chris. You quit your job. What’s next—a sports car?”

  “I don’t know what’s next.” Libbie flung out her arms. “Isn’t that exciting? I don’t know what’s next, and I’m not panicking! I’ll try the catering thing and see what happens. If it fails, I’ll figure out something else.”