“So Inga thought we needed this?” Rebecca asked. “How is this one of her assets?”
“I wish I had more answers for you.” Ethan passed a document and a pen across the desk. “Now, I’ll just need your signatures.”
Julie took them and leaned on the end of the desk to sign. “My mother will flip over the cat and not in a good way.”
“Who knows? Maybe she’ll be good company for your mom when you’re not around,” Rebecca said.
“Queen Elizabeth herself wouldn’t be good enough company for my mother,” Julie complained.
Libbie signed next and passed the document to Rebecca.
“If everything you’ve said is true about witches and sisterhood,” Kate began, “then why would Inga choose a man to represent her? It seems to me she would’ve chosen a female attorney.”
Ethan’s expression clouded over. “As a matter of fact, she did. Inga had initially hired my sister. Deb and I practiced together.”
Libbie remembered that the sign outside had said Townsend & Townsend. She’d assumed it referred to a father and son.
“But not anymore?” Kate prompted.
“Deb died last year,” Ethan said, and Libbie noticed that a muscle in his cheek began to pulse. “Inga and I had gotten to know each other, and she asked if I’d continue to represent her. I was honored that she trusted me.”
Libbie could see the pain in the man’s eyes and wondered if they reflected her own. Loss seemed all around her today, almost suffocating in its relentless presence. A memory flashed in her mind of young Josh in one of those children’s pits filled with hard colorful balls. He’d disappeared beneath them, and she’d jumped in to fish him out, petrified that he would be crushed or asphyxiated. That was what today felt like—she was trapped in a pit of soul-crushing balls that could kill her if she didn’t find a way out, and she desperately wanted someone to jump in and save her.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” Julie said.
Libbie knew she was probably thinking about Greg. It was natural to relate your own sorrow to someone else’s.
“Will you be attending the funeral, Mr. Townsend?” Libbie asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Inga left quite an impression on me, as I’m sure you can understand. I’d like to pay my respects.” He hesitated. “If you think it will help you, I can give you the name of a witch I spoke to after Deb passed. She might be able offer more insight.”
Libbie winced when he stumbled over the word ‘passed.’ He still seemed to be grieving.
“Lorraine was very enlightening,” he continued. “She was able to fill in some blanks for me. Maybe she can help you, too. If you’re interested, she calls herself the Voice of the Moon Goddess.”
“Thank you,” Kate said. “We’ll keep her in mind.” She signed the document and returned it to the lawyer.
Julie glanced at her phone. “I hate to be the spoilsport, but I don’t think we have time to stop by the house before the funeral.”
“No, you’re right,” Kate said. “We’ll meet at Inga’s afterward, okay?” She cut a glance at Rebecca. “The cats will be fine until then. I’m sure Bonnie fed them.”
Rebecca took Libbie’s hand. Together, they rose to their feet. “My first witch’s funeral,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure I shouldn’t say this, but I’m actually looking forward to it, now that I know.”
Kate shot her a quizzical look. “Why? It’s not like she’s going to jump out of a cauldron and yell surprise.”
“No, but maybe something unexpected will happen,” Rebecca said.
Libbie wasn’t convinced that a funeral was where you wanted something unexpected to happen, but she understood the sentiment of not wanting to sit in public with uncomfortable emotions for any length of time. She’d do it for Inga, though. The older woman had introduced Libbie to worlds she didn’t know existed, and it seemed that she was determined to continue educating her from beyond the grave. Her gaze flicked to the sealed letter now stuffed into Kate’s handbag. She had a feeling opening that letter was going to be their introduction to yet another of Inga’s lives.
Chapter Five
The funeral was held at Needham’s, a historic Victorian building with gingerbread trim and a striking view of the lake’s south leaf. Although it wasn’t officially a funeral home, it wasn’t unusual for people to host small gatherings there. It seemed strange to Libbie to look out the window and see people enjoying the water as though nothing had happened, as though the town hadn’t lost a remarkable member of its community. That was life, though. Tragedies happened, and the world continued to spin on its axis, oblivious to the pain and suffering of its inhabitants.
“Anyone else expecting Inga to rise up out of the casket?” Julie asked in a hushed voice as they viewed Inga’s body.
It had taken Libbie a full minute to look directly at her friend’s body. Seeing Inga’s small frame in its final resting place made the whole thing real, and Libbie wasn’t ready for a reality check.
“If she flies away on a broomstick, I’ll eat my hat,” Rebecca said.
“That one’s too nice,” Kate said, admiring her black pillbox hat with its truncated lace veil.
Libbie lowered her voice, ready to pose the question she’d been dying to ask since they’d left Ethan Townsend’s office. “So are we witches now? Is that what you all took away from the meeting?”
“I don’t think so,” Rebecca said.
Julie trained a wary eye on the other guests in case they were overheard. “I think we will be, once we’ve accepted her gifts or assets or fed her cats for ninety days straight until the next lunar event.” She exhaled loudly. “I don’t know.”
“We did accept her assets,” Libbie whispered. What they were meant to do with them was anybody’s guess until they could open the letter.
“Are you finished yet?” a gravelly voice asked. “Some of us don’t have bladders capable of lasting through an entire service.”
Libbie turned to look at the old man behind them in line. He wore a faded suit and a tie that was slightly frayed along the edges. She recognized him as one of Inga’s neighbors. “I’m sorry, Mr. Francis. We just wanted to say a proper goodbye.”
Mr. Francis stared at the casket, his eyes filled with sorrow. “This funeral seems wrong for our Inga.”
“Too fancy?” Libbie asked.
“No, too normal,” he replied. “The Inga I know would’ve wanted to be burned on a pyre and sent across the lake in all her fiery glory.”
“I think she put in the request, but the town council turned her down,” Kate said. “Health and safety hazard.”
Mr. Francis chuckled. “You’re her cocktail club, right? I’ve seen you coming and going from the house on Friday nights.”
Libbie knew it was because Mr. Francis spent most of his time in a rocking chair on the front porch of his log cabin-style house.
He edged closer. “Is it true she died after too many tequila shots? I’ll be honest, that’s a pretty tempting way to go.”