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

by Annabel Chase

  “Inga?” Libbie placed a hand on Inga’s back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Is it another spasm?” Kate asked. The older woman sometimes complained of muscle spasms.

  Inga slipped to the deck, moaning softly.

  It was Kate who had the presence of mind to call an ambulance. In the meantime, Libbie kneeled beside the older woman and checked her breathing. The breaths were weak, but they were there.

  “Hang in there, Inga,” Libbie said. “An ambulance is on the way.”

  She hoped that the holiday traffic didn’t interfere with its timely arrival. The country mountain roads backed up easily.

  Julie dropped down to Inga’s other side and held her hand. “Stay with us. We haven’t finished emptying your liquor cabinet yet.”

  Libbie smiled at the comment, although she felt the pressure of tears building behind her eyes. They couldn’t lose Inga. Not now. Plenty of women lived to be one hundred these days, and Inga was someone with that kind of stamina. At least that was how she’d always seemed to Libbie. Larger than life, despite her five-foot-four frame.

  Kate paced the deck as they awaited the ambulance. She reminded Libbie of a sea captain expecting help from shore for one of her sailors. “You can do this, Inga Paulsen,” Kate said. “Stay right here so we can drink together again next week. It’s my turn to choose the cocktail. I’ll make whatever you like.”

  Inga’s head lolled to the side and she coughed. “Tequila sunrise,” she croaked.

  Libbie’s heart lifted at the sound of the older woman’s voice. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Inga’s forehead. “I’ll have tequila again next week, just for you.”

  The sound of an ambulance split the quiet night air. “Took them long enough,” Kate muttered.

  Relief washed over Libbie. Everything would be okay. The paramedics would be here any minute, and they’d save Inga. She smoothed back the older woman’s fine white hair. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “And so will you. I promise,” Inga said, her voice nearly inaudible.

  Libbie assumed her friend was delirious. “Only one of us is flat on the floor, Inga.”

  Kate’s shadow fell over them. “The next time you fall flat on the floor, Inga Paulsen, you’d better have kicked back more than one shot. This is far too lame for a woman of your caliber.”

  Inga managed a gentle laugh. “I will miss you all.” She coughed again. “Remember…”

  Libbie frowned. “Remember what, Inga? You’re going to be fine. You don’t have to miss us because we’re right here with you.”

  “Just as I will always be with you.” With great effort, Inga turned to face her. “Breath is the spirit.”

  With those words, Inga Paulsen smiled and closed her eyes for the last time.

  Chapter Three

  Libbie lay in bed with her arms resting at her sides, staring at the whirring blades of the ceiling fan overhead. She’d barely slept a wink, and her eyes burned from alcohol and exhaustion. Chris and Hercules were nowhere to be found, and Libbie welcomed the solitude. Chris had still been awake when she’d arrived home last night, tearful and babbling incoherently about lightning strikes and rotten apples. Eventually she’d calmed down enough to share the news about Inga.

  “Mom.” Courtney appeared in the doorway, but Libbie’s head felt too heavy to turn. “Do you want something to eat? I can make you toast with jam.”

  “Thanks, honey. I’m not hungry.” Whoosh went the blades as they sliced through the air above her head. She’d always warned the kids about jumping on her bed. The ceiling was just low enough to create a hazard.

  Courtney perched on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry about Inga. I know how much you liked her.”

  Libbie patted her daughter’s thigh. “She thought the world of you kids.” Inga had said more than once that Josh and Courtney gave her hope for the future.

  “Chris says you’re still going to work today.”

  “I have to. It’s Fourth of July weekend. Joe won’t have anyone else to fill in on such short notice.”

  “Maybe you should cancel on Grandma.”

  “I don’t think so.” Libbie allowed herself a small smile. Even if Libbie had been the one to die, Delia Stark would expect her older daughter to resurrect herself in order to show up on time for the party.

  Courtney curled up next to her and tucked her legs closer to her chest. Libbie had spent many nights with Courtney in this very position after the divorce. Her daughter had taken the split harder than Josh. Her son had been as practical and understanding as a child as he was at sixteen. Libbie considered him something of a marvel. Courtney was more like Libbie, with feelings that ran so deep that sometimes it seemed impossible to access them.

  “Chris said it was a heart attack,” Courtney said.

  Libbie nodded. “That’s the unofficial word. It happens.”

  “He said old ladies shouldn’t drink. That maybe if she’d started a sewing club instead of a cocktail club, she’d still be alive.”

  Anger sparked inside Libbie, but she clamped down on it. “Tequila didn’t kill Inga, sweetie. She’d crammed a lot of years into those eighty-five. I just think her heart wasn’t as strong as her spirit.” Libbie frowned. “Hey, you’re not even supposed to be here. Does your dad know?”

  Courtney nodded and kissed her cheek. “I’m not staying long. I have to write the daily flavors on the board.”

  Libbie smiled. “Your favorite part, other than taste tests.” Her daughter was an artistic child with an eye for detail. Libbie often wondered where her talent had come from since neither Libbie nor Nick was particularly artistic.

  “There’s coffee downstairs. I told Chris to make extra.”

  Libbie cupped her daughter’s cheek. “Someday, you’ll take good care of me in the west wing of your mansion.”

  It was their little joke that one day Courtney would be wealthy enough to dedicate an entire wing of her home to Libbie’s care. She promised herself that she wouldn’t be anything like Julie’s mother, though. Libbie had no interest in controlling Courtney’s life when she could barely keep up with her own.

  “Only silver spoons for your tongue, milady,” Courtney said.

  She rolled to her feet and Libbie realized how grown-up she looked now. Summer at the lake would be different this year for the thirteen-year-old with her adorable figure and engaging smile. Something else for Libbie to worry about.

  “Have your dad drop you off here later, and we’ll go to the party together,” Libbie said. “I need you showered and appropriately dressed.”

  “He already gave us the schedule.” She paused at the sound of thunderous footsteps in the hallway. “Hercules is back.”

  “You don’t say.” Before Libbie could shift the covers, the dog leaped onto the bed and dripped saliva on her bare arm. “I guess I’m getting up now.”

  Courtney blew her a kiss. “I’ll see you later. I hope you feel better.”

  “Thank you.” Libbie stroked the dog’s fur before padding into the bathroom for a shower. Her head started to throb, and she wished she’d had more water last night. She’d been too distracted. Her late arrival had thrown her off balance and she’d never recovered.

  She waited until the warm water splashed her skin, and only then did she give herself permission to cry. Libbie’s showers were her safe haven, a place where she could hide from the world and allow herself to feel. It was the place where she’d cried as a young and overwhelmed mother, as a wife in a failing marriage, and finally as a girlfriend in a frustrating relationship. The water washed away her dissatisfaction with her job and family. It was where she’d cried when, in the middle of her divorce, her father had the nerve to call and bemoan the difficulty of her younger sister’s life. Emily, who had an intact marriage, a job she loved, healthy children, and four doting grandparents.

  Libbie still remembered how she’d felt in that moment. She’d just come from the lawyer’s office with both kids in the car becaus
e the babysitter had cancelled. The kids had been fighting, and she’d been worried about money and the emotional impact of the divorce on the kids. Her father called and she’d put him on speaker, a move which she later regretted and would never repeat. The upside was that her kids had gone quiet at some point during the call and, when she’d turned around to check on them afterward, she’d seen the look of complete understanding on Josh’s young face.

  “Why doesn’t Pop-Pop ask about us?” Courtney had asked. Her young narcissistic brain had correctly noted Jerry Stark’s interest in Emily and her offspring and his lack of concern for Libbie and her kids during such a difficult time.

  Welcome to my world, she’d thought. To her daughter, she’d said, “I’m sure he does the same to Emily. Calls her and worries about us.” Even as she said the words, she knew they were untrue. Her parents had doted on Emily from the moment she was born, relegating Libbie to a footnote in the story of their lives. No matter how well Libbie performed at school or in athletics, it was never enough to hold her parents’ attention. Emily simply shone so brightly that Libbie became nothing more than a shadow. A silhouetted branch on the family tree. As aware as she was, it didn’t stop her from trying, even now. It had become part of her identity, like her blue eyes and freckles.

  As Libbie toweled off and dressed, her thoughts turned to Inga’s funeral. The older woman had no family left to speak of, no children or close relatives. Kate was handling the funeral arrangements. Her best friend was invaluable in a crisis, which was ideal for Libbie because her anxiety tended to cause her to freeze up or shut down in difficult situations.

  She dressed for work and hurried downstairs for a quick cup of coffee before she braved the Saturday traffic. She looked forward to Tuesday when things would calm slightly, although the summer months always brought more of everything.

  More traffic, more people, but also more money.

  At Basecamp, the lunch crowd was as busy as she’d anticipated, and Libbie worked herself into a frenzy. Truth be told, she was grateful for the distraction. She only had a single fleeting image of Inga’s lifeless face when she was stirring the gravy for the turkey medallions.

  By the end of her shift, Libbie’s feet and back hurt and she was ready to flop into bed and succumb to emotional exhaustion. The last thing she felt like doing was enduring an evening with her parents, but it was her sister’s birthday, and Libbie loved Emily.

  Just as she was ready to slip out the back door, Joe intercepted her. “I’m going to need you to cover for Maria on Tuesday.”

  Libbie faltered. “I’m sorry, Joe. I can’t. That’s the day of my friend’s service.”

  Joe hesitated, and Libbie thought he was finally going to offer some sort of condolence, which he’d failed to do when she’d first told him the news. Instead he said, “So you were really next to her when she died?”

  Libbie’s stomach tightened at the memory. “Yes.”

  “I’ve never been there when somebody’s died.”

  Libbie stared at him. “I don’t recommend it.”

  Joe dragged a hand through his curly hair. “Well, I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you can’t sub for Maria.”

  Libbie’s jaw tensed. If he gave her a hard time, she didn’t know what she’d do. “What’s going on with Maria?”

  “She’s got an appointment with the plastic surgeon about her new…” He cupped his chest. “It takes months to get an appointment with this guy. That’s how good he is.”

  Libbie cleared her throat, unsure what to say. It wasn’t as though Maria was having reconstructive surgery. Apparently, her fiancé had offered to pay for a larger cup size, and Maria decided to take him up on it. “I don’t know what to tell you, Joe. It’s a funeral service, not a dinner reservation.”

  His expression registered surprise, and Libbie understood why. Usually she was accommodating, but this was her dear friend Inga’s funeral. She couldn’t reschedule it, and she had to be there.

  “What time’s the funeral? How about you come in late or leave early, depending on the timing?”

  Libbie’s mouth dropped open. Instead of kicking him in the balls the way she wanted to, she heard herself say, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Her hands shook as she got into her car and drove home.

  Libbie’s parents lived in a modest lakefront home that they’d purchased after her father’s retirement. Libbie exited the car, the familiar tight ball of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach. It was always this way when she was about to interact with her parents. The air was warm, and the scent of grass permeated the air thanks to an early afternoon rain shower.

  “I bet she loves her present,” Courtney said. She’d insisted on wrapping the gift in paper that she’d decorated herself with drawings of butterflies. She’d used brightly colored markers laced with glitter so that the images shimmered on the paper.

  “I think she’ll love the paper more.”

  Courtney beamed in response, and Libbie was relieved that her daughter didn’t downplay her talent. Not today at least.

  Delia Stark opened the door with a flourish. She wore a red and white top paired with a blue skirt in honor of the holiday. Libbie noticed that her earrings were little American flags with encrusted diamonds.

  “We’re here,” Libbie said with forced cheer.

  Libbie’s mother inspected her from head to toe. “You should’ve gone home to shower after work. We would’ve waited for you.”

  “It’s fine,” Libbie said. Never mind that she had showered and taken great pains with her hair and makeup, knowing she’d have to endure her mother’s scrutiny.

  “Where’s Chris?” she asked, making a show of peering behind Libbie, as though Libbie was actually wide enough to block her mother’s view of him.

  “He has a friend visiting from out of town for the holiday,” Libbie mumbled. She was a terrible liar.

  As they stepped inside, Emily rushed forward to embrace her sister. “I am so sorry about Inga. What a terrible loss.”

  Libbie sank against her sister, grateful to have someone who understood her connection to the older woman. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, yes,” her mother said. “The German woman. I heard the dreadful news.”

  Libbie bit her tongue. Inga had lived in America since she was a child. She didn’t even think of herself as German.

  “Why don’t you come to the patio?” her mother suggested. “I’m sure these kids are starving. Look at Josh. He’s made of skin and bones.”

  “It’s called a growth spurt, Mom,” Emily said. “My kids are the same.”

  Her mother peered at Josh, who was now taller than her. “I don’t know. His pallor is a bit green. Has he been for a physical this year?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “I’m a lifeguard, Grandma,” Josh said. “I had to be cleared.”

  “Oh, right. You’re both working this summer, aren’t you?” She turned and walked through the dining room and diagonally through the family room to reach the back door. “Pop-Pop is manning the grill, of course. He’ll be happy to relinquish it now that you’re here, Elizabeth. You know how he hates the heat.”

  The last thing Libbie felt like doing after work was standing outside in front of a hot grill, but she smiled and said, “I’ll be right there. Let me just say hi to everyone.”

  ‘Everyone’ consisted of Emily’s husband and their two sons, Sam and Ryan. She liked her brother-in-law well enough, but they weren’t particularly close.

  “Aunt Libbie, did you hear I’m trying out for varsity soccer?” Sam asked. Although he was only fifteen, he’d proven to be as athletic as he was handsome. It hadn’t escaped Libbie’s notice how much her mother doted on Sam. It was like a repeat of Libbie and Emily. Josh was her oldest grandson, and Courtney was her only granddaughter, yet she still found reasons to prefer Emily’s children to Libbie’s own.

  “Your mom told me,” Libbie said. “That’s great.”

  “I know a couple of g
uys on the team,” Josh said to Sam. “They’re really nice.”

  That was the most interaction Libbie had with anyone at the party. She spent most of it chained to the grill, flipping burgers, and making sure the hot dogs had the black marks the kids liked. It was amazing how many burgers such a small group could inhale. Finally, the orders stopped, and she was able to make up her own plate of food. She sat at the outdoor table to enjoy the meal. Her father sat next to her, talking to Emily’s husband across the table about a tennis tournament. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and Libbie watched two fireflies as their lights brightened and faded in sync.

  When she’d finished eating, she carried her empty paper plate into the house to dispose of it. She knew how much her mother hated cleaning up at the end of a party, so Libbie made sure to tidy up as much as she could before they left.

  As the lid of the trashcan closed, Libbie felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She expected it to be Chris. To her surprise, it was an unknown number. She let it go to voicemail, and then tapped the screen to listen.

  “Hi, my name is Ethan Townsend. I’m an attorney and I’m trying to reach Elizabeth Stark on behalf of the estate of Inga Paulsen. If you could return my call at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

  Libbie studied the number on the screen, debating whether to return the call now. It was Saturday night on a holiday weekend. He probably wouldn’t answer. Then again, he’d just called her. What if there was a problem, something connected to Inga or the funeral? She slipped into the bathroom and closed the door before clicking the number on the screen.

  “Ethan Townsend.”

  “Um, hello. This is Elizabeth Stark returning your call.”

  Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Libbie, are you in there? We’re about to bring out the cake.”

  She held her hand over the phone. “I’ll be right there, Mom.”