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

by Annabel Chase

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “I’d even be willing to set up a tasting, if you like. I’ll make a few of your preferred options or, if you have something you’d like me to make—a Labor Day staple, for example—I’m happy to do that, too.”

  Libbie was surprised by the sense of calm that surrounded her. She expected anxiety to be burning a hole in her stomach right now.

  Trixie tapped Libbie’s arm to encourage more petting. Libbie smiled and scratched the beagle behind the ear.

  Mrs. Quincy eyed her closely. “I’ll tell you what. Trixie seems to like you, and that’s not to be ignored. I interviewed a caterer yesterday, and I was afraid Trixie would take a bite out of his butt before he left. If the dog snarls or growls, that’s a hard pass from me.”

  Libbie would’ve kissed the dog on the lips if it wouldn’t have seemed too awkward. “I have a dog. And a cat.”

  “Oh? What kind?”

  “Hercules is an Irish Setter, and Eliza is...adopted from a friend who passed away.”

  Mrs. Quincy’s expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that, but glad to hear that you were able to take her in.” She rapped her cotton candy-colored fingernails on the desk. “Here’s the deal, Ms. Stark. If you can successfully cater three local events in the next month—nothing too small, mind you, I’ll let you cater my party.”

  Libbie remained planted in the chair, despite her desire to launch herself across the table and hug Mrs. Quincy. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.” She paused. “How will you know whether I’ve actually been successful?”

  “References, darling. No family members, of course. You’ll provide me with the menus you prepared and three glowing references, and the party is yours.”

  “Not that I’m concerned, but what if you don’t hire me for some reason? Will you be able to find someone good that close to the date?” Libbie silently cursed herself for the question; it reeked of self-doubt.

  “I have a Plan B, but she catered Lila Kensington’s Memorial Day party, and I don’t like to appear to follow in Lila’s footsteps, if you understand what I mean.”

  Libbie’s head bobbed up and down so fast she was afraid her head would snap off. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Quincy. I really appreciate the opportunity.” She bent down and kissed the top of Trixie’s head before rising to a standing position.

  “Good luck, Ms. Stark. Be sure to keep me updated.”

  Libbie felt like flying out of the salon, but she forced herself to take slow, steady steps across the linoleum. She hadn’t felt excitement like this in such a long time. All at once, the world seemed hopeful and full of possibilities. She couldn’t wait to share the good news with her friends.

  “I need to cater three jobs, and I need to do them well enough to get glowing references, and then she’ll hire me,” Libbie said.

  She and Julie sat on the deck of the sprawling house that Julie shared with her mother. They each had a glass of iced tea and a frosted strawberry Pop-Tart, one of Julie’s weaknesses. The unobstructed view of the island in the middle of the lake made this one of Libbie’s favorite spots in town.

  It helped that her good friend lived here.

  “That’s encouraging,” Julie said. “I’m so proud of you, waltzing into the salon like that. You’re a culinary badass.”

  “Thanks. It still feels a little surreal.” The old Libbie would’ve called and prayed that Mrs. Quincy was unavailable so she could leave an awkward voicemail.

  “Any idea who else is in need of a caterer this summer?” Julie asked.

  “Not yet, but I’m on it. I’ve been distributing flyers and Josh is putting some up at the club. Nick has them at Cone Hut too.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  Julie smiled. “It isn’t like Nick to be thoughtful. I wonder if Olivia made him do it.”

  Nick’s wife seemed to be a positive influence on Libbie’s ex, so Libbie made sure to stay on her good side. “I wondered that myself. Either way, I’m grateful.” Her head tilted back. “How’s Der Kommissar?”

  Julie huffed. “Don’t ask. She has an ingrown toenail and seems to think it’s my familial duty to take care of it.”

  Libbie shuddered. “Makes me glad I’m not close with my parents. They’ll expect Emily to do that stuff, I guess.”

  “Oh, please, Cinderella. They’ll expect you to do the gross stuff while they prep Emily for the ball. They wouldn’t want their precious younger child to get her hands dirty.”

  Libbie suspected her friend was right. Her parents had placed unreasonable expectations on Libbie for as long as she could remember and vilified her whenever she dared to push back, which was rare thanks to Libbie’s aversion to conflict.

  “Julie? Do you have company?” Doris appeared at the screen door and peered at them on the deck. She wore a peach-colored robe and slippers and leaned on a cane.

  “Mom, what are you doing down here? You know you’re not supposed to take the stairs.”

  Doris pushed aside the screen door and joined them on the deck. “Oh, it’s only Libbie. I thought maybe you were entertaining a male visitor.”

  “Why would I do that? You know I’m not interested in dating.”

  Doris hobbled over to the table and plucked Julie’s glass of iced tea from the table. “Does this have sugar?”

  “No, just lemon.” Julie’s expression was as sour as the aforementioned fruit as her mother brought the glass to her mouth and drank a generous mouthful.

  “Maybe you could consider bringing your mother a drink. I’m dying of thirst up there, sequestered in my tower. It’s like a Rapunzel reversal, where the poor mother is imprisoned instead.”

  Julie’s jaw unhinged. “Mom, I brought you a cup of tea less than an hour ago.”

  “Tea is dehydrating. You should have brought me hot water with a squeeze of lemon. On second thought, you’ll overdo it. Just set the lemon wedge on the saucer, and I’ll do it myself.”

  Libbie turned her gaze to the dozen or so boats and kayaks on the rippling water. She hated being present for Julie and her mother’s squabbles. Greg had served as a barrier between them up until his death. Now Doris was free to harass Julie to her heart’s content and took full advantage of the opportunity.

  “Why don’t you go back upstairs, and I’ll bring you hot water in a few minutes?” Julie asked.

  “Fine, but I’m timing you,” Doris said. “Too long and you’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me. I’m your daughter.”

  “I can write you out of the will. There’s still time.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. She’d clearly heard this one before. “And leave it to whom? Brad?”

  “He is your brother,” Doris sniffed.

  Libbie vaguely remembered Julie’s older brother, Brad. He’d moved to Phoenix more than twenty years ago and rarely called or visited. The last time he’d returned to Lake Cloverleaf was for their father’s funeral. He hadn’t even made the trip when Greg died, citing a scheduling conflict. Julie had tried to appear nonchalant at the time, but Libbie knew it had to hurt.

  “Libbie is setting up a catering business,” Julie said in what Libbie recognized as a desperate effort to change the subject. “Isn’t that great?”

  Doris assessed Libbie. “What happened with Joe? I bet he tried to grab your ass, and you acted like it was a case of assault and battery.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Women today are so soft.”

  Julie sucked in a breath, and Libbie knew her friend was trying very hard to be on her best behavior. “Libbie’s in the running to cater Mrs. Quincy’s Labor Day party, but she has to cater three other events first.”

  Doris leaned on her cane. “Is that so? Well, you should talk to Myra Kitts’ daughter-in-law.”

  “Serena?” Julie queried.

  “Yes. She’s planning a fancy barbecue because her husband got a big promotion. Myra says he’s rolling in dough now.”

  “Thanks for the
tip,” Libbie said. It sounded like exactly the kind of affair that would impress Mrs. Quincy if she handled it right.

  “See? Old people don’t need to be put out to pasture. We still have our uses.” Slowly, Doris rotated back toward the kitchen and disappeared from view. Libbie could her the faint click of her cane as she crossed the tile floor.

  Julie lowered her voice. “I don’t care that she’s old. I care that she’s a complete bitch.”

  “Have you considered moving her bedroom downstairs?” Libbie asked. “The house has plenty of rooms on the main level that could be turned into a bedroom.”

  “I’ve made the suggestion, but you know Doris. She refuses to budge. She’ll probably call the police if I try to relocate her downstairs.”

  Libbie didn’t envy Julie. “I wish she appreciated you more.”

  Julie wrapped her fingers around her glass. “It’s just how she is. She’ll never change.”

  “No, I’m sure you’re right.”

  Julie managed a smile. “Hey, at least you’ve got a lead on a job now. It was worth tolerating her for five minutes.”

  “How is she plugged in to the town gossip from her bedroom?”

  “Because she’s plugged in to the internet. She and her friends have a private chat room, and once a week they play cards via video chat. You know it’s in progress because Mom ends up shouting ‘cheater’ at least once per session. The first time it happened, I thought she was watching an old Jerry Springer.”

  “I guess that’s good for you. Keeps her occupied.”

  “Not occupied enough.” Julie heaved a sigh. “I feel awful saying anything. She’s my mother.”

  Libbie patted her friend’s hand on the table. “You’re preaching to the converted, Jules.”

  “I know, right? Between the two of us, we’d keep a therapist busy for the rest of her career.”

  “I thought about asking my mother if she’d go to therapy sessions with me. Nick had suggested it, actually, back when we were married, but I knew what her reaction would be. In her mind, she does nothing wrong, and I’m the problem. Her difficult child.”

  “You’re only difficult when you won’t do exactly as she wants when she wants. She’s like my mom. She wants everything on her terms.”

  Libbie nodded absently. Her mind was on Mrs. Quincy’s challenge and how easily she could track down Serena Kitts. “Do you know where the Kitts live?”

  “They’re on the north side of the lake, but Serena will probably be at the lakefront bar with her friends at lunchtime.”

  “Liquid lunch?”

  Julie ate the last bite of her Pop-Tart. “They take their cocktails even more seriously than we do.”

  “Which bar?”

  “Pebbles. You can’t miss her. Tall, willowy brunette with flawless skin. She’s always dressed like she’s headed to a New York fashion show.”

  “Thanks, I’ll head over there now and lie in wait.”

  Julie looked at her in surprise. “Are you really going over there? I thought for sure you’d decide to wait for her to go home. She’ll be with the other Ladies Who Lunch.”

  “That’s okay. I can handle it.”

  Julie eyed her suspiciously. “Next time I see you, bring me a copy of that cocktail recipe in Inga’s book. I might want to make one for myself.”

  Libbie laughed. “I don’t think rum stays in the system this long, but sure. I’ll show it to you.”

  “I don’t think it was the rum, Lib.”

  Libbie ran a finger along the side of her glass. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I think there might’ve been something really special about that cocktail.”

  “The fern?”

  Julie gazed at her in wonder. “No, Libbie. I think it was magic.”

  Chapter Ten

  Pebbles was the lakefront bar that catered to the middle-aged crowd. After ten in the evening, it became a haven for divorced people seeking their next date, which Libbie inadvertently discovered after she and Nick split up. For that reason alone, she’d formed the habit of avoiding the place. Everyone there seemed to reek of desperation. Even now, in the middle of the day, the patrons seemed to reek of more than alcohol.

  As Julie promised, Serena Kitt was easy to spot. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and enormous black sunglasses. Her skin was lightly bronzed from the sun. She smiled, revealing a set of the whitest, straightest teeth Libbie had ever seen. She sat at a four-top with two other women, and Libbie recognized the fair redhead as Peyton Lansing. Peyton had been two years younger than Libbie in high school but seemed to attend every senior event from her freshmen year onward. The other woman looked familiar, but Libbie didn’t know her name. Her reddish-brown hair was in twists, and her fawn skin appeared to have burned and freckled thanks to the intensity of the summer sun.

  Libbie approached the table with a friendly smile plastered across her face. “Serena?”

  The woman lowered her sunglasses and looked at Libbie. “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt. My name’s Libbie Stark. I understand you’re in the market for a caterer and, as it happens, I’ve just launched my business, so I thought I’d pass along my information, if you’re interested.”

  Serena scrutinized her for a silent moment, and Libbie worried that she’d overstepped. “Join us, Libbie Stark.” She pushed out the empty chair with her sandaled foot. “I’d love to hear more about your business.”

  Libbie slid into the chair and pulled out her marketing materials. “This is for your husband’s promotion, right?”

  Peyton’s eyes widened as she read the menu options. “Crab puffs are my favorite. You have to have those, Serena.”

  Libbie placed the packet in the middle of the table for the women to ogle.

  Serena smiled at her other friend. “I even see vegetarian options for you, Ally.”

  “I can work within your budget,” Libbie said. “I just need to know the number of guests, whether we’ll use disposables or china and glassware, and the style of the event.”

  Serena stopped her with a look. “You’re hired.”

  Libbie heard a sharp intake of breath and realized it came from her. “I am?”

  “As long as our schedules are compatible, yes.”

  Ally snorted. “She’s easily convinced after a couple of cocktails.”

  “It has nothing to do with alcohol,” Serena said. “I’ve been needing to make a decision about this and haven’t gotten around to it.”

  Peyton laughed. “Because you’re too busy having drinks with your friends?”

  Serena ignored her and cut a glance at Libbie. “Why don’t we discuss this in more detail at my house? Are you free now?”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mean to drag you away.” Libbie shot a guilty look at her two companions.

  “These two want to ogle the bartender, but I don’t care for excessive man chest.”

  “Prude,” Ally said, smiling.

  Serena stood. “I’ll see you bitches later.”

  “TTFN,” Peyton said, and blew her a kiss.

  “Can I offer you a ride home?” Libbie asked, as they walked away from the table.

  Serena waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, no. We take the jitney so no one has to drive.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Peyton, what time is the next jitney?”

  “Not for another hour,” Peyton called back.

  Serena turned back toward Libbie. “I suppose I’ll take you up on that ride, after all.”

  At least they were responsible. “No problem.” Libbie steered Serena to the parking lot, keeping one hand within reach of the slightly inebriated woman in case she toppled over.

  Once they were settled in the car, Serena looked at her. “I’m so glad you sought me out. I’ve been putting this off, and it’s going to bite me in the ass if I don’t get everything sorted quickly.”

  “Any particular reason you’ve put it off?”

  Serena’s gaze drifted to the passenger-side window. “The weight o
f expectation, I suppose. My husband has gotten this big promotion, and he likes things a certain way, but he doesn’t like to actually make the plans himself. It becomes a guessing game, where I hope I guess right.” She pointed. “You’ll want to make the next right.”

  “What happens if you guess wrong?”

  “Sulking, normally. I hate sulking, don’t you? It’s so childlike. I blame his mother.”

  Libbie laughed. “Why do we never blame their fathers? Surely they also have a responsibility to teach their children to communicate rather than sulk.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Sadly, my husband is far too busy with a death grip on the corporate ladder to teach his son anything.” Serena didn’t even try to hide her bitterness.

  “How old is your son?”

  “Caeden’s fifteen and proving to be a real challenge at the moment.”

  “Oh, my son Josh is sixteen. They might know each other from school.”

  “It’s possible. Caeden doesn’t talk much about his friends.” Her laugh rang hollow. “The truth is, Caeden doesn’t talk about much of anything these days. If he grunts in my direction, I find myself jumping for joy.” She tapped the dashboard. “Right here, hon.” She laughed again. “Pardon my manners. What’s your name again? I’ve already forgotten.”

  “Libbie Stark.” She pulled into the semi-circular driveway of a house with cedar shake siding painted a dark gray. Three front steps made of dark concrete slabs led to a white-trimmed covered porch with an arched ceiling. Libbie thought the exterior was stunning without feeling too fussy.

  “Come on in, Libbie Stark, and we’ll talk business.” Serena seemed sharper as they approached the front door. Maybe the afternoon alcohol was wearing off.

  “Is Caeden working this summer?”

  She barked a laugh as she unlocked the front door. “I wish.” She glanced at Libbie with renewed interest. “Your son has a job?”

  “He’s a lifeguard at Club Cloverleaf.”

  Serena tilted her head back and groaned. “I would love for Caeden to do something like that. He’s an excellent swimmer.” She sauntered through the expansive foyer with its sweeping staircase and into the coastal-style kitchen. Libbie marveled at the driftwood-finished flooring and the tongue-and-groove planks on the ceiling. Six burners. European convection oven. Serena’s kitchen would be a dream for someone like Libbie.