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

by Annabel Chase

  “Can we at least try?” Libbie asked. As much as anything, she was curious to see how Lorraine went about contacting spirits, and it would be helpful to understand more about these so-called gifts.

  Lorraine’s gaze swept around the table. “For what it’s worth, my advice is to simply surrender. Instead of resisting, listen to what the universe is trying to teach you.”

  “I like that idea,” Kate said.

  “Only because you’re not the one being bitch-slapped by the universe right now,” Libbie shot back. She shifted her focus to Lorraine. “Full steam ahead, please.”

  “Mind if I toke up? Smoking brings me clarity.”

  Libbie noticed Kate stiffen; her friend was averse to smoke of any kind.

  Kate glanced around at the furniture. “Just move those other cushions to the edge of the patio. I don’t want the smell getting into them. They’re dry clean only.”

  “Who has outdoor cushions that are dry clean only?” Lorraine asked.

  While Julie and Rebecca moved the cushions, Lorraine removed several items from her tote bag, including a tall white candle, a pre-rolled joint, and a folded square of fabric. She unfolded the fabric and covered the teak table with—

  “Is that Hello Kitty?” Libbie asked, squinting at the images on the tablecloth.

  “Don’t you love her?” Lorraine asked.

  Courtney had gone through an incredibly brief Hello Kitty phase, and Libbie had been relieved when it passed quickly. She didn’t see the appeal.

  The women sat around the smiling faces of Hello Kitty as Lorraine prepared for her seance. She lit the candle and then the joint. “That’s the good stuff.”

  Kate replenished everyone’s drinks while Lorraine smoked her joint.

  “The downside is these burn too fast,” Lorraine said. “I’ll save the rest for later.” She placed the remaining joint on a small ceramic plate that Kate had placed in front of her. Libbie was pretty sure it was intended to hold Kate’s rings when she was in the kitchen cooking.

  “The smell is a bit nauseating,” Kate said.

  Julie sniffed the air, as though she needed to confirm. “There’s a nice breeze tonight. That will help.”

  “Please place your hands on the table,” Lorraine instructed. “Your drinks will have to wait.”

  “We don’t hold hands?” Kate asked.

  Lorraine leveled her with a look. “Did I say hold hands?”

  Kate placed her fingers primly on the edge of the table.

  Lorraine closed her eyes. “Now close your eyes and repeat after me.”

  They repeated Lorraine’s Latin phrases. They didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, and Libbie heard herself tripping over some of the words. Libbie was relieved when the witch finally switched to English.

  “We call forth Inga.” Lorraine popped open an eye. “What’s her last name?”

  “Paulsen,” Libbie said.

  She closed her eye. “We call forth Inga Paulsen. Inga, your sisters are here to greet you and thank you for their gifts.”

  Libbie watched the flame of the candle flicker. There was no sign of Inga’s spirit or any other.

  Lorraine tried again. “Are you there, Inga Paulsen? It’s me, Lorraine.” She chuckled. “That one’s for the Judy Blume fans.”

  Libbie snorted.

  “Will the spirits come if the seer is cracking jokes and not taking communication seriously?” Kate asked.

  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Relax, kitten. The spirits have a sense of humor, just like when they were people.” She looped her shoulders and tried again. “We beseech you, Inga Paulsen. Come forth and impart your wisdom unto your sisters.”

  At that moment, Cat-Cat jumped onto the table and purred, prompting a scream from Julie. Libbie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “This cat belonged to your friend,” Lorraine said.

  “How did you know?” Kate asked.

  “Her tag. It says If lost, please return to Inga P.” Lorraine’s laughter quickly morphed into a cough. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I could tell by looking at her. I sense a connection.”

  Libbie frowned at the cat. Would she sense a connection when she looked at Cat-Cat or Eliza? She hadn’t really focused much on the cat, other than to make sure Eliza and Hercules got along.

  “I’d like to ask Inga if there’s any special ritual we’re supposed to do when we scatter her ashes,” Rebecca said.

  Lorraine looked at her. “I can answer that one. The answer is do whatever you feel honors your friend. If that’s a spiritual ritual, then do it. If that’s spreading her ashes at the base of a tree while quoting your favorite one-liners from The Golden Girls, that’s fine too.”

  Kate pursed her lips. “So this means no Inga?”

  “I think this cat is the closest we’re going to get. Sorry, ladies. Anyone else you want me to try?” Lorraine asked.

  Libbie slumped against her chair. “Inga is the only one with answers.”

  Cat-Cat meowed, and Kate lifted her off the table and set her on the patio.

  “What are your specific questions?” Lorraine asked. “Maybe I can help.”

  Libbie didn’t wait for anyone else to ask. She jumped right in with hers. “Why didn’t she tell us what the gifts are? She left everything so vague. Even her letter told us to open the jar and nothing else. ‘Breath is the spirit’ isn’t exactly chock full of details.”

  Lorraine’s eyes appeared bloodshot in the candlelight. “She couldn’t tell you because she didn’t know. She might’ve had a guess, but there’s no way to know for sure until after the assets have been passed on and, by that time, the original witch is too dead to see the outcome.”

  “Then how are we supposed to know if we’re witches?” Julie asked. “Except for the moment when we opened the jar, I don’t feel any different.”

  “Me, either,” Kate said.

  “Same,” Rebecca added.

  “If you inherited her assets, then you’re witches,” Lorraine said. “It’s that simple.”

  Libbie closed her eyes, trying to understand. “If Inga had a magical cocktail book like mine, then why did she have bartenders at our weekly club? We never had any unusual drinks without names.”

  Lorraine squinted at her. “What makes you think Inga could do everything you can do? You’re Elizabeth Stark, not Inga Paulsen. You have different experiences and personal history. The magic gives you what you need. It’s impossible to know how it will manifest. It’s unique just like the individual person.” She smiled. “Like you, Libbie.”

  “Okay, then why am I the only one experiencing changes, if she divided her assets among us?” Libbie asked. “And why am I the only one with writing in the book she left me? Granted, it was only one recipe, but the others don’t have writing in theirs.”

  Lorraine eyed them one at a time, her gaze finally coming to rest on Libbie. “You were the only one ready to receive your gifts.” She waved a hand in the direction of the others. “These ladies, not so much.”

  Kate folded her arms. “I beg your pardon. I can assure you that we are every bit as ready to receive whatever Inga left for us. We loved that woman like she was our own flesh and blood.”

  “Even more than our own flesh and blood,” Libbie added. “I would’ve traded my mother for Inga in a heartbeat.” She gasped at her own words. “I didn’t mean that.”

  Lorraine’s upper lip curled. “Sure you did, kitten. No judgment here. We all have our crosses to bear.” She shifted to address the other women. “When the gifts are ready to be received, they make themselves known. Like I said before, surrender, and listen to what the universe is trying to teach you.”

  “How do we convince the universe we’re ready to receive our gift?” Julie asked. “Is there a text alert we can send?”

  “Nope.” Lorraine blew out the candle, and a blanket of darkness fell over them. “There’s no convincing. You’re not in front of a jury box. You just have to be patient.”

  �
��What about Libbie?” Julie asked. “How can she make things right? She lost her job, her boyfriend.”

  “Sometimes we have to shed our skin in order to reveal what was already underneath,” Lorraine said. “How old are you, Libbie?”

  “Forty-eight.”

  Lorraine nodded. “Yes. This is your time.”

  “Midlife is my time?” she echoed. “I don’t think so. Midlife is when I start discovering that my body isn’t keeping up with my mind and my mind isn’t keeping up with my heart.” She paused. “The symbolic heart, not the organ. I guess, technically, that’s part of the body.”

  Julie laughed. “Someone pour her another drink.”

  “Holy Hemsworth, I’ve got it,” Julie said.

  “Which one?” Lorraine asked.

  “Any one of them will do, but Chris is my preference,” Julie said. She turned toward Libbie. “How can you make this situation the best thing that ever happened to you?”

  Kate gave Julie’s arm a light smack. “That’s a great question.”

  Julie rubbed her arm. “Then why are you hitting me?”

  “Because I should’ve thought of it.”

  Libbie’s mind drew a blank. “I have no idea.”

  “That’s where I’d start,” Lorraine said. “Figure out the answer, and you’ll be well on your way.”

  “I guess this why Ethan Townsend didn’t have a lot of information for us,” Libbie said. “Each case is too specific.”

  “Ethan Townsend?” Lorraine repeated. “I know that name.”

  “Yes, he’s the lawyer who consulted with you about the whole witch thing,” Libbie told her. “So he could better understand Inga’s will.”

  “Oh, Ethan didn’t come to me about witchcraft. That discovery was a happy accident, or as I like to call it, divine intervention. He came to me because he wanted to see if I could summon his sister. We ended up chatting, and that’s how he learned I was a witch. I only advertise myself as a psychic, you see. That’s what clients are interested in.”

  “And did you?” Libbie pressed. “Contact his sister?”

  Lorraine patted her hand. “That’s confidential, doll. Just like a lawyer, I have standards, and I adhere to them.”

  Fair enough.

  “If you have no other questions, I’ll be going.” Lorraine gathered her belongings, and the women lifted their glasses so she could retrieve her tablecloth.

  “Thank you for coming,” Libbie said.

  Lorraine slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friend, but I always see a witch’s passing as a blessing. It means the torch has been passed once again.” She smiled at them. “I can’t see the future, but I sense you’ll make very fine witches. Welcome to the sisterhood.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” As Kate stood to escort her to the door, Lorraine stopped her.

  “I’ll show myself out. You stay here with your friends. Enjoy this wonderful evening.”

  They waited until she was out of earshot to speak.

  “Do you think she was a real witch?” Julie asked.

  “She had to be. Did you notice her chin? It had more hairs than Lenny Jenkins’ back. And we all know his mother Nairs his for him.” Libbie clamped a hand over her mouth. Had those words actually come from her own mouth?

  Julie laughed. “I think you inhaled some of her weed.”

  “How could she not? It was so strong.” Kate wrinkled her nose.

  Rebecca rubbed her own chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think chin hair is any indication of a witch. If that were true, every menopausal woman in the world would qualify.”

  “Forget witches. If it weren’t for those wax strips I buy on Amazon, I’d look like I was shifting into a werewolf,” Julie said.

  They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating what they’d learned.

  “Are you feeling any better about everything?” Julie asked.

  Libbie heaved a sigh. “Maybe? I don’t know. I’d feel a lot better if I knew my catering business would be successful.”

  Kate snapped her fingers. “Mrs. Quincy.”

  Libbie conjured an image of the intimidating woman who owned a small salon chain. Her husband’s family had lived in town since its inception and, as his wife, she held a lot of sway with the other residents. “What about her?”

  “What’s her big to-do every year?” Kate prompted.

  Libbie fell back against her chair, the realization hitting her. “Her Labor Day party.”

  “Every influential person in town attends that party,” Kate said. “If you can convince her to let you cater it, you’ll be turning business away by the end of the year because you’ll be so in demand.”

  “Kate’s right,” Julie chimed in. “Mrs. Quincy’s blessing is basically a heap of money in the bank. You’ll be able to pay the mortgage company in a lump sum. You won’t even need a repayment plan.”

  Libbie doubted it would be that much of a windfall. “Doesn’t she usually hire Pedro?” Libbie asked. Pedro Montague was the owner and chef of a popular local restaurant.

  Kate smiled. “I was at the salon the other day, and Mrs. Quincy was complaining to anyone who would listen that Pedro can’t do it this year because he’ll be on his honeymoon. He and Cyrus are touring southeast Asia. So she was asking for recommendations.”

  Libbie felt a fire light in her belly at the thought of winning over Mrs. Quincy. Her friends were right. If she managed to impress Mrs. Quincy and her guests, it would kickstart her business in a way no amount of marketing could replicate. She’d be sure to make her repayments, and then some.

  “Thanks. That’s a great idea. I’ll speak to her tomorrow,” Libbie said.

  “Won’t you need a few days to practice what you want to say?” Julie asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  The other women exchanged baffled glances. “Just like that?” Kate asked. “No excuses as to why you’re not ready or not talented enough?”

  “I’m channeling Inga,” Libbie said. “How can I make upending my life the best thing that ever happened to me? I can start by paying a visit to Mrs. Quincy.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday, so she’ll be at the salon here in Cloverleaf,” Kate said. “Let me know if you want me to make a call.”

  Libbie knew deep in her bones this was something she had to do on her own. “Thanks, Kate. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got this.”

  Chapter Nine

  Libbie pushed open the door to the salon and walked straight up to the reception desk like a woman on a mission—a mission that involved crab puffs and parmesan tomato chips. “Good morning, Lacey. Is Mrs. Quincy available, by any chance?”

  “Hi. Are you on the schedule today?” Lacey asked.

  Libbie could tell the young woman was trying to remember her name. “No, I’m not here for my hair. I just need a quick moment of her time. It’s about her Labor Day party.”

  The young woman angled her head. “She’s in the back office. You can go ahead.”

  Libbie offered a relieved smile. “Thanks.”

  She hurried through the busy salon and kept her eyes focused on the office in case there was someone there she knew. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. Truth be told, Libbie was never in the mood for idle chitchat. Her close friends were her comfort level, and anything else left her exhausted for hours afterward.

  Mrs. Quincy sat behind an antique desk repainted in bubblegum pink. As Libbie entered the room, a beagle shot forward to sniff her feet. She hadn’t even noticed Trixie was there until the dog moved. She bent over to pet the dog, unable to resist a four-legged friend.

  “Good morning,” Mrs. Quincy said. “How can I help you?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Quincy. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by unexpectedly, but I understand Pedro’s unable to cater your Labor Day party this year, and I’d like to throw my hat in the ring.”

  She produced one of the flyers from her handbag and set it on the desk, taking a quick second to admire her daughter’s ar
tistic handiwork.

  Mrs. Quincy read the name on the flyer out loud. “Libbie Stark.” She met Libbie’s anxious gaze. “I know your mother and sister, don’t I? They’re regular customers.”

  “So am I,” Libbie said, more meekly than she would’ve liked.

  “I cater to your whole family, and now you want to cater for me.” Mrs. Quincy looked her over. “Have a seat, Ms. Stark.”

  Libbie lowered herself onto the upholstered chair, and Trixie’s front paws appeared beside her. Someone wasn’t through with her need for affection yet. She resumed petting the dog while they talked.

  “You have catering experience?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve been a chef for many years. I worked at Basecamp until recently.”

  Mrs. Quincy nodded. “Good food but uninspired. I hope you don’t intend to serve my guests meatloaf kebabs.”

  Libbie laughed. “If I never cook another meatloaf, it will be too soon.”

  “Well, you have experience cooking for large groups. That’s a definite plus. My Labor Day party tends to get out of hand when it comes to the guest list. I hate to say no.”

  Libbie wanted to make certain that one day in the near future, Mrs. Quincy would hate to say no to her. “I took the liberty of creating menu options.” She produced another laminated sheet from her bag that described the dishes in greater detail and included Courtney’s depictions of the food.

  “Well, now I’m hungry, so thank you for that.” Mrs. Quincy set the paper on the desk and smiled. “I appreciate you coming to see me. I like a woman with moxie, reminds me of myself, but I can’t hire someone without catering experience. As I’m sure you’re aware, this party is the social event of the season. I feel about this the way I feel about drugstore hair dye. I can’t take the risk.”

  Libbie tried to disguise her disappointment. Did she really think it would be that easy? When had anything in her life ever been easy? “Mrs. Quincy, I know I can do this. I’m organized. I’m an excellent chef. I know what people like, which dishes will spark their interest.”