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

by Annabel Chase

  Frankie’s home had a private lakeside beach, and that was where most of the party would be held. It meant that Libbie would spend most of the event on her own, which was generally the way she liked it.

  As she prepped in the kitchen, Frankie walked in holding a silver wig in her hand, and Libbie was surprised to see that the hair on Frankie’s head was so thin it was nearly transparent. She must’ve noticed Libbie’s reaction because she immediately apologized. “I wasn’t thinking. I can put it back on.”

  “Don’t do that on my account,” Libbie said. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  “It’s not really a secret, but I don’t shout it from the rooftops either.” She sighed. “A sign of aging, I’m afraid. My hair started to thin when I hit my forties, and it got worse each year, to the point that a wig became the only option. I chose silver to stay somewhat authentic.”

  “The wig looks amazing,” Libbie said. “I never would’ve known if you hadn’t taken it off.”

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.” She stroked the hair on the wig. “Considering it costs about seven hundred dollars, it better look authentic.” She smiled at Libbie. “But I suppose it’s the price we pay to retain our youthful beauty. Unfortunately, it’s not the only price. Botox, fillers, lashes.” She gave a rueful shake of her head. “I wish I could say I didn’t give a hoot, but I do. When I say I want to age gracefully, what I really mean is youthfully.”

  Libbie understood. Despite her growing confidence, she wasn’t sure she’d want to rock a balding look either. That took a special type of confidence. Libbie hadn’t quite reached that level yet, and hoped she never had to.

  “And here I thought chronic fatigue and forgetfulness would be my menopause crosses to bear. If only I’d known.” Frankie shrugged. “I suppose it wouldn’t have made any difference. There’s nothing you can do for thinning hair. If there were, men would have already solved that problem. There’d be Viagra for hair loss available in vending machines all over the world.” She laughed at her own joke.

  Libbie reached into her tote bag and pulled out her cocktail book. If recent events were any indication, there could very well be a cocktail recipe waiting for her.

  “Ooh, is that the life-changing cocktail that Serena mentioned?” Frankie asked.

  “It’s a book of recipes I’ve been slowly making,” she said. Looking through the book again, she was reminded of the missing page. The other recipes were still present and accounted for, so she wasn’t sure what to think of it.

  She turned to the most recent entry and then flipped past it. Sure enough, a new recipe was there—the ink sparkling with promise. “I think I might have one for you.” She smiled at Frankie. “How do you feel about gin?”

  “I’m a fan.”

  “Good. I’m about ready here, so I have time to prepare the infusion for your cocktail.”

  “That sounds intense.”

  To Libbie’s relief, this recipe didn’t require any overnight chilling in the refrigerator. “It’s hand-crafted and can be easily ruined if you make a wrong move.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that.” She peered over the counter at Libbie’s dishes. “I like everything I see. I wish it would’ve been feasible to have it all.”

  “Next time have a bigger budget,” Libbie said with a smile.

  “I think I’ve gained ten pounds just looking. I’ll need to control myself today.”

  Libbie set to work making the cocktail and was pleased that she’d brought leek with her for one of the appetizers. It was as though the book knew what she’d have available.

  “Leek in a cocktail?” Frankie queried. “How interesting.”

  Libbie remembered from one of the books that wild leek was connected to protection, love, and a lingering presence, among other things. She wondered which one would be active in the cocktail.

  By the time Frankie’s drink was in hand, her wig was back on, and the arrival of her guests had begun. Libbie had made Greek salad skewers and melon prosciutto skewers, along with pickle sushi, BLT cups, and a myriad of other handheld foods. Frankie had requested a menu heavy on finger foods, items that could be held in one hand and eaten. It was a fun challenge, and Libbie was pleased with the results.

  She was in the middle of cleanup when a familiar figure appeared beside her. “Hildie?”

  “Libbie, I’m so glad to see you.” Hildie embraced her. “I heard you were catering, but every time I tried to make my way up here from the beach, someone intercepted me.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a party. You don’t need to consort with the help. How is everything?”

  “I have good news, and I have bad news,” Hildie said. “Which would you like first?”

  “Whatever order you want to tell me.”

  Hildie sucked in a breath. “The bad news is that I have breast cancer. Stage one.”

  Libbie’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure whether to congratulate her or commiserate. “Oh, Hildie.”

  “The good news is that we’ve caught it early, and the doctor said, as far as breast cancer goes, I couldn’t have a better prognosis. I won’t even need radiation.”

  “Wow, are you serious?”

  “I will need a mastectomy, but you know, I always sort of had that knowledge in the back of my mind. And, to be honest, my boobs having been looking sad these last couple of years. It’ll be nice to upgrade. Anyway, if I have to have cancer, it’s the best-case scenario. Thanks to you, I worked up the courage to make the appointment.”

  Libbie knew what the end result of waiting would’ve been. “I’m glad you caught it early. Please let me know if you need help with anything after your surgery. I can even make meals for you and the family when you’re not able to cook.”

  “Oh, Libbie. I’m not able to cook now.” Hildie laughed. “Breast cancer has nothing to do with it.”

  “I mean, I’m glad it’s a good prognosis, but, obviously, I wish you didn’t have to go through this at all.”

  “Me, neither, but you were right. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. It would’ve just made it worse.”

  “When’s the surgery?”

  “Next week after the kids are back in school, so light a candle for me.”

  “Of course I will.” And if she could do more, she would.

  “Well, I don’t want to interrupt you while you’re working, but I’ve been dying to tell you in person—that I’m not dying.”

  “I’m so glad, Hildie. Thank you.” She watched her friend leave the house to rejoin the party and felt a tightening in her chest. She took a moment to thank her lucky stars that she was healthy and relatively happy—and growing happier by the day.

  Libbie was bone-tired by the end of the party, but it was the good kind where she knew she’d worked hard and felt good about what she’d accomplished. Frankie had been thrilled with the outcome, and Libbie had spotted her dancing wigless on the beach amidst the lit torches.

  As she dropped into the driver’s seat of her car, her phone buzzed with a call from Kate. “Hey, there,” Libbie said. “I just finished Frankie Smith’s party. What’s up?”

  “Did it go well?”

  “I think so.” And, if so, it was lucky number three. Frankie had promised to send a good word to Mrs. Quincy first thing tomorrow.

  “Good,” Kate said. “I’m glad you had one positive today because I’m about to drop a negative in your lap. Apologies in advance.”

  Libbie stiffened behind the wheel. “What’s wrong?”

  “G.G. is in the hospital.” G.G. stood for Gerti Gatti, the principal’s secretary at the high school. Everyone in town knew the cheerful older woman. She seemed to show up at every community event that involved the local kids. Despite her arthritis and bad hip, she was their biggest cheerleader.

  “That’s a shame. What from?”

  “She’s sick from a poison she ingested. From what I understand, she said that she drank a cocktail Chris had given her, promising that it would help her ar
thritis. The bastard even charged her for it.”

  Libbie’s body grew cold as she remembered the missing page in the book. She’d never changed the locks at the house. She hadn’t thought it was necessary.

  “Libbie? Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.” Her response was muted but audible. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “It’s unclear. She’s on a ventilator, and the police are looking for Chris. If there’s any chance he’ll come to hide in your house, you might want to get home.”

  The pressure of tears built behind Libbie’s eyes as she pictured poor G.G., sick and helpless in a hospital bed. Instinctively she wanted to blame herself. No, she thought, stopping that guilt train in its tracks. This wasn’t her fault. This was Chris’s doing, pure and simple. Once again, his greed and laziness had won out over common decency. Libbie felt nauseated by the thought of him.

  She started the car and headed for home, silently praying with each passing mile that he wouldn’t be there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Libbie’s palms were sticky with sweat as she pulled into the driveway. Although Chris’s car wasn’t visible from the road, she could see the rear of it sticking out from behind a cluster of trees on the side of the house. She was relieved the kids weren’t home. What was his plan? Hide out here until the police grew bored searching for him?

  She shook her head as she opened the front door, knowing perfectly well she’d find it unlocked. “Chris?” she called.

  Hercules rushed to greet her, and she heard Eliza cry from the top of the stairs. She entered the kitchen with the dog by her side. Chris stood at the counter, cracking open a beer.

  “Did you come to return the page you stole from me?” she asked, her voice as sharp as her chef’s knife. She withdrew the book from her tote bag and set it on the counter.

  He avoided her gaze. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I only substituted the garnish thing because I didn’t have any.”

  Libbie drew a steadying breath. “What did you replace it with?”

  “Apparently, it’s called poison parsley, but I didn’t know. It was just some wild herb I found when I was hiking. That’s how I got the idea. I didn’t think it mattered what I used.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  He glared at her. “What? You’re the only one allowed to make money? You always wanted me to earn a summer income, so that’s what I was trying to do.”

  “I don’t sell cocktail recipes, Chris. I’m running a catering business. The cocktails are for friends for fun.” A necessary lie. “And why would you tell her it would help her arthritis anyway? You have to know that’s not true.”

  He shrugged. “I thought the alcohol would loosen her up, and she wouldn’t ache so much from her joints.”

  He really was an idiot.

  Chris opened the book with idle fingers and froze. “Wait. How did it get back in here?” He flipped back and forth between pages. “Did you recreate it?”

  “What are you talking about?” Libbie asked.

  He gripped a page in the book. “This is the recipe I tore out. The one I used for G.G.”

  Libbie peered at him. “I’m sure it isn’t.”

  “It definitely is.” He met her gaze. “What the hell, Libbie?”

  She recognized the stubborn look in his eye. She was never going to get rid of him unless she took a stand now. Even if she called the police, it would be a temporary measure. He’d keep coming by when she least expected it to harass her and belittle her. Libbie squared her shoulders.

  No more.

  “I’m sure it’s a different one. How about I make it for you and prove it?”

  Chris frowned. “You want to make me a drink?”

  “Sure,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Why not? A toast to our separate ways, and no hard feelings. Much nicer than that cheap beer you’re drinking.”

  His mouth twisted into a wolfish grin. “I’m not one to turn down booze.”

  “Why would you?” Libbie smiled over her shoulder as she shifted the book to the opposite counter where the liquor cabinet was located. She swayed her hips provocatively, knowing it would draw his gaze, and opened the other book that lay nearby, the one she’d been reading about magical plants. She bit down on her lip and hoped he didn’t notice the change in focus.

  She mixed the cocktail as quickly as she could, grateful that she’d spotted the necessary ingredient beforehand. She’d actually had the thought when she’d seen it, but had brushed it aside, thinking she was overreacting. She knew now that she hadn’t been. There’d be no second chance.

  “I just need an ingredient from the garden,” she said. She hurried past him with Hercules hot on her heels. She raced to the garden and pinched what she needed before returning to the kitchen.

  Libbie remained calm as her hands worked on autopilot. She lifted the shaker and pretended it was a maraca, smiling the whole time.

  “You’ve gotten pretty good at this,” he said. “You should consider picking up shifts at one of the lakeshore bars if you need money.”

  If you need money.

  Libbie wanted to haul off and punch him in the throat. Keeping her cool, she poured the contents of the shaker into a glass and added the final touch—the most important part of the spell. She handed him the glass with a sultry smile.

  “Bottoms up.”

  He leered at her. “If you’re lucky.”

  Inwardly, she cringed. How had she ever found him attractive? It was as though she saw him clearly for the first time. He’d never touch her again. Not even a handshake.

  He downed the drink in two gulps. In typical Chris fashion, he didn’t bother to savor the carefully crafted flavors. She leaned a hip against the counter, waiting. His sour expression told her the moment the spell began to take effect.

  “What’s in this?” He glared at her.

  “Alcohol, Chris. That’s why it’s called a cocktail.”

  He advanced toward her. “It burns. Why does it burn?” He clutched his chest and started to choke.

  Libbie remained rooted in place. “Because it’s a banishing spell, Chris. It’s the same one I’d use to repel cockroaches.” She folded her arms, satisfied. “And now it’s banishing you. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? You sound like a lunatic.” Then his whole body stiffened, seemingly against his will.

  “You’ve been cast out of this house, Chris, never to return. Good luck finding a lawyer. I might not have been willing to sue you, but poisoning an old lady is a whole different story.”

  And she knew one lawyer who wouldn’t represent him.

  In one final move of defiance, Chris lunged for the book and grabbed it as the spell took hold. He flew backward through the house with Libbie chasing after him.

  “No,” she cried as the front door opened on its own. He continued backward, like a puppet on a string, and straight outside. The door slammed shut between them, and her hands splayed on the glass. “Stop!”

  He landed on his backside and rolled to his feet, still holding the book. “Didn’t expect me to take this, huh? I bet you’re nothing without this stupid book.” His mouth twisted in a heinous smile as he slipped a free hand into his pocket and produced a lighter. So he was smoking again? Not the way she wanted to find out.

  “Chris, don’t,” Libbie shouted, grabbing the door handle. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He flicked the lighter, and a small flame erupted. She raced outside and watched him set the book alight. In one deliberate motion, he dropped the burning book onto the ground and swaggered toward his car. Tears streamed down Libbie’s face as she ran to the book. She kicked dirt over it, dousing the flames, and dropped to her knees beside it.

  “No, no, no.” She could see the crisp black edges of the pages. What happened now? Was she still a witch? Would she lose her connection to Inga forever?

  A police siren alerted her to their arrival. Chris didn’t make it to his car. They arrested
him right there in her driveway and she watched with a mixture of satisfaction and revulsion as they drove away with Chris in the backseat.

  A Land Rover pulled into the driveway just as the police disappeared from view. Kate hopped out and ran to her side.

  “Libbie, are you okay? I saw the cop car.”

  “The book,” Libbie croaked.

  Kate glanced at the ground where the book still rested. “That asshole! He burned Inga’s book?”

  Libbie tried to hold back the tears, but they pushed their way forward. A fat teardrop landed on the top page. She watched in amazement as the black edges faded, and the words reformed as though nothing had happened. She blinked away the remaining tears and lifted the book to study it. Every page was intact, even the one he’d torn out. Every recipe legible. And, even better, Chris wouldn’t be able to set foot on her property ever again.

  Kate gaped at the book. “Did you see that?”

  “How could I miss it?”

  “You just...” Kate was at a loss for words, not a common experience.

  “I know. I just Rapunzeled the book.” And she didn’t even have a Sundrop Flower.

  What she did have, however, was magic.

  The first call she received the next day was from Kate, and it was good news. G.G. was off the ventilator, and it appeared she would make a full recovery. Libbie sank against her pillow, relief flooding her body. She planned to meet Kate at the hospital later and pay G.G. a visit. It was the least she could do.

  She’d made it downstairs to the coffee machine when the kids arrived home from their dad’s. She wasn’t even bothered that Josh had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Nick had never been great about enforcing bedtime.

  “Did you hear about G.G.?” Josh asked.

  “I did. It sounds like she’s going to be okay.”

  “Olivia said Chris had something to do with it,” Courtney said. Libbie sensed her daughter’s anxiety kicking in.

  “It was an accident, honey, but I can promise you that Chris won’t be coming here anymore. I made sure of it, so there’s no need to worry.”