Silver Spells: Midlife Elementals, #1

Silver Spells

Copyright © 2020 by Kate Moseman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First Edition

ISBN 978-1-7345144-4-5 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-7345144-5-2 (paperback)

Published by:

Fortunella Press

Find out who you are and do it on purpose.

—Dolly Parton

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

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27

1

My boss couldn’t escape this time. I’d been trying to catch her all week to ask if I could ride on the Suntan Queen parade float, and now I’d spotted her across the employee parking lot getting out of her vintage teal convertible. Oversized sunglasses and a driving scarf obscured part of her face, but I would know Queenie Russell anywhere—I’d worked for her for over twenty years.

Queenie! Everyone at the Suntan Queen sunscreen factory, high and low, was on a first-name basis with our fearless leader.

She looked around. When she spotted me, she staggered back against the side of her car, then righted herself and rushed toward the red-brick factory building.

I hurried after her. Wait!

She disappeared through the revolving door, which spun wildly, sending drafts of cool, sunscreen-scented air outside.

I increased my speed to a jog as I passed through the door and into the reception area. Coffee sloshed in my cruiser cup, making me glad it had a tight lid.

From the reception area, I could swerve to the factory side or the office side of the building. I veered toward the factory side, knowing Queenie liked to walk through the factory first thing in the morning.

Machinery whirred and clicked, dispensing filled bottles of sunscreen. Workers in white coats and hair nets loaded the bottles into boxes to be shipped from Sparkle Beach to vendors all over the world.

I skidded to a stop and looked in all directions, hoping to spot Queenie somewhere among the large steel vats.

A black-haired woman with dark red lipstick and a piercing gaze hailed me. Luella! What are you doing on the factory side?

Did you see which way Queenie went? Normally, I would have paused to shoot the breeze with Rose—one of my oldest and dearest friends—but I needed to catch Queenie first.

Rose lifted her safety goggles, displaying nails painted with tiny white skulls on glossy black polish. I don’t think she came in here.

Nice nails.

You like? She waggled them proudly.

They go with your outfit. Well, the outfit under your lab coat, anyway. Rose’s dark clothing walked a fine line between office-appropriate and graveyard-appropriate. The occasional dog hairs stuck to her clothes revealed her softer side—a weakness for taking in rescue dogs. I can’t stay. Gotta catch Queenie before she locks herself away again.

Rose nodded. Good luck.

I backtracked through the reception area and entered the office side. My other bestie, Pepper, occupied a cubicle on the main aisle, around the corner from mine. She would have spotted anyone who had walked by.

Pepper’s brow wrinkled as she stared down at the latest spreadsheet on her desk, her brown curls still wet from her usual morning surf. Those curls always dried down to enviable beachy waves within a few hours, but until then, they’d surely leave a few water spots on the papers scattered in front of her.

Pepper, did you see Queenie go by?

Pepper looked up and swept her damp hair away from her face. Crow’s-feet highlighted her eyes as she smiled. A minute ago. Why?

I tried to talk with her, but she ran off.

Pepper leaped out of her seat, game for excitement as always. You want me to help you look for her?

No, no. I’ll find her. I don’t want to drag you away from your work.

Catch you later, then. She dropped into her seat with loose-limbed grace.

I jogged down the main aisle and up the stairs, heading for the executive offices on the upper floor. When I reached Queenie’s outer office, the secretary jumped up and barred me from going any further.

Could I speak to Queenie briefly? It’s about the parade.

She’s not to be disturbed.

She just got here.

I’m sorry. She left strict instructions that she was not to be disturbed.

I glanced at Queenie’s closed office door. Could you call her real quick? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Of all the times for her decades-long open door policy to change, it had to be on the morning I needed to talk to her.

I’m sorry. The secretary didn’t budge.

Could you give her a message?

The secretary raised her eyebrows without speaking.

Tell her Luella wanted to see her about the parade. I usually get to ride on the float, but I didn’t get the invite this year.

I will pass along the message.

Thanks. With no other recourse, I trudged downstairs and ran through a mental list of things to do that sunny Friday.

One: Get through my workday at Suntan Queen.

Two: Enjoy a date night with Dan, my boyfriend of the last month.

Another sip of coffee brought home the fact that my daughter, Lily, had gone off to college in New York—making it unnecessary to keep stocking almond milk creamer in the fridge—and yet I kept on buying the stuff like it was me, not her, who got an upset stomach from dairy. I added one more item to my to-do list: Don’t cry over Lily’s unoccupied room.

I set the insulated tumbler on my desk and noticed a red light flashing on my office phone. I mashed the button to listen to the message.

It was Rod, one of the managers on the office side of the operation. Luella, I need to see you in my office when you arrive. Rod supervised the marketing team, which included me as the person in charge of social media.

On my way to Ron’s office, I stopped by London Russell’s desk.

Queenie Russell’s family was full of aspirational names alluding to royalty and capital cities—such as Kingsley and Rome, for example—but Queenie’s niece, London, was the only member of the clan who’d shown genuine interest in the business rather than plain old greed. Queenie was allowing her to shadow staff members in every department in hopes that she would learn the company from the inside out.

She’d spent the past few months with me.

Morning, London.

London glanced up from her selfie camera. One sec. She puckered her lips just so. The phone clicked in rapid succession, capturing a series of photos. She slipped the phone into her designer bag. What’s up?

Rod wants to see me about something, but when I get back, I thought we’d go over the copy for the upcoming posts.

London saluted with a manicured hand. Yes, ma’am.

I hid a smile. She didn’t mean any harm by calling me ma’am, and I didn’t particularly mind it. I chose to view it as a sign of respect from one generation to another—and despite her self-obsessed rich girl appearance, London was a sharp cookie with a natural talent for navigating the subterfuge and in-fighting of the Russell family.

I presumed Rod wanted to talk to me about the new marketing push we’d be doing to position Suntan Queen as the hip, new brand of the twenty-first century. A name like Suntan Queen made it an uphill battle, harkening as it did back to the old days when a tan was considered perfectly healthy. Queenie did not want the company—or herself, God forbid—to be thought of as an aging grand dame.

I couldn’t blame her.

When I pushed open the door to Rod’s office, I caught the distinct tang of fear in the air, cutting through the ever-present scent of sunscreen and the bland cologne Rod favored. You don’t get to be a single parent for umpteen years without developing a sixth sense for smelling trouble.

Morning, Rod. I settled on the chair facing his desk. I’d been with Suntan Queen since I was in high school and didn’t need permission to take a seat.

Luella. Rod fidgeted with an ugly digital clock on his desk.

I waited.

He put the clock down but didn’t make eye contact. Luella, I have some bad news.

My stomach dropped like I was on that five-story flume ride my daughter made me go on once at Walt Disney World.

He shifted his weight. Apparently, some of the higher-ups think it’s time for a change.

What do you mean? My fingers curled over the arms of the chair. I was liable to snap one off if I wasn’t careful.

Rod met my gaze with an earnest expression. You know how it is these days, with the kids and their phones—

Everyone has a phone, Rod.

He tried to smile, but only succeeded in looking flustered. Exactly.

An idiotic statement like that didn’t deserve a response.

He looked away again. Anyhow, they want to take your position in a new direction.

What direction? Whatever direction this was going in, it didn’t sound like a good one.

Rod sighed. A direction that doesn’t include you.

My toes tingled. Anger fizzed right up my legs, churned through my belly, and seized my chest. It’s a wonder I didn’t burst into flame on the spot. Rod, I have worked for this company since—

Since the earth cooled. I know. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, possibly to stop me from punching him in the nose.

I want to talk to Queenie. Right now.

Well, Queenie doesn’t want to talk to you.

Why’s that?

It’s been decided.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it, even though the situation was far from humorous. You think Queenie would fire me after all these years without so much as a word of explanation? You’re joking. I leaned forward. Queenie herself moved me into this position when websites were first getting big and social media wasn’t even around yet. I know this company backwards and forwards. Every raise, every accolade I’ve ever had came from her. And now you’re telling me she’s throwing me out without an explanation?

Look, Luella—you know I don’t have anything against you. I just do what I’m told.

That’s a copout. Show me my bad performance reviews. Oh, wait—there aren’t any. I sat back and folded my arms. Sometimes, silence was the best way to get someone talking.

He opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish.

What now? You going to put me in handcuffs and escort me out?

Don’t be dramatic—

I lowered my voice to a soft purr. I’m not being dramatic. I’m slightly perturbed that I put so many years into this company and now I’m out without so much as an explanation.

He winced. It’s not technically required to give a reason to fire someone.

And if I wanted to be dramatic, I could walk right out of here and make a big fuss on my way out. But I won’t. I’ll just say I’m highly disappointed by this treatment.

Relief spread over his face. You’ll need to clean out your desk. Then I’ll escort you out.

Great. Bring the handcuffs. I stood. I better get my accrued leave in my last check, Rod. You hear me?

He nodded without meeting my gaze.

I’ll let you know when you can ‘escort’ me out. I pulled the door open with considerable force and let it bang into the wall before striding out.

I headed straight for Pepper.

Pepper took one look at my face and sprang from her desk, her curls bobbing. Luella? What happened? What did he say?

I shook my head. I’ll explain after we get Rose.

Pepper darted around her desk and followed me.

Rose’s kohl-lined eyes widened as we approached her on the factory floor. Are you okay?

Can you come to my office?

Rose handed her clipboard to a nearby employee and followed.

In my cubicle, Pepper dropped into an extra chair and rubbed at a stray smudge of sunscreen on her arm. Rose remained standing.

I sat on the edge of my desk and lowered my voice. Rod fired me.

Pepper bolted up. What the—

Rose gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. The tiny skulls on her nails grinned at me.

He didn’t even give me a reason.

That’s not right, said Pepper, shaking her head with vehement disapproval. The black pearl on her leather necklace glinted green under the fluorescent lighting. In fact, I’m going to go tell Rod—

I snagged her shirt as she attempted to charge out of the cubicle, causing her to boomerang. No, you’re not. He’s just the messenger. Sit down.

She huffed and sat.

Rose frowned. Why would Queenie do that to you? You always get good performance reviews.

I don’t know. Maybe she thinks I’m too old for running the social media?

Damn ageism, muttered Pepper, who was clearly still peeved about being stopped from assaulting Rod.

Fine lines appeared on Rose’s forehead as she raised her eyebrows. I didn’t think that was Queenie’s style. After all, she’s much older than you—and she’s still running her own company. Rose tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing delicate silver earrings shaped like miniature daggers.

I didn’t think that was her style either, but now I don’t know anything. The adrenalin backwash left me hugging myself as my stomach turned slow flips.

Rose embraced me. I’m so sorry.

Pepper threw her arms around both of us. She smelled of salt, sunscreen, and the neoprene wetsuit she wore while surfing. We’ll help you. I bet there are a hundred companies dying to hire a clever lady with ninja social media skills. She released us and her face lit up with determination.

Rose let go and nodded decisively. One of her dagger earrings flashed in the morning light.

An abrupt laugh escaped my lips, the sound dangerously close to a sob. Yes, a middle-aged empty nest single mom is certainly a hot commodity these days. I pressed my fingertips to the outer corners of my eyes. It’ll be okay, right?

Our conversation was interrupted when London knocked on the cubicle wall. When she entered, her facial expression indicated she’d caught the vibe in the room. Am I interrupting something?

My firing, I said.

London gasped. Oh, my God! She paused, then continued breathlessly. Why would Aunt Queenie fire you? I thought everything was going super. Who’s going to do your job?

Not me, apparently.

She gripped my arm with surprising strength. You know what? I’m going to talk to my aunt.

You don’t have to do that—

London flipped her hair over her shoulder. I’m part of the family. I might as well use the influence I have. She mimed texting in midair. I’ll be in touch.

Rose, Pepper, and I exchanged glances after London swept out.

I shrugged. I guess there could be worse things than an advocate on the inside.

Rose made a dubious face. London?

Lay off, goth queen. She’s not as shallow as she looks.

Hmph, said Rose, clearly unconvinced.

I picked up a framed photo of Lily, my mother, and me at the beach.

Pepper reached for it. Let me see. She held the frame and examined the photo within. Isn’t Lily precious? They grow up so fast. I remember holding her in the hospital the day after she was born.

She passed the photo to Rose, who trailed a fingertip around the edge. Seems like yesterday. You look more like your Mama every year. So does Lily.

I took it and carefully put it in a box. I’ll have to tell Mama about losing my job.

They both chuckled. They’d known Mama so long they called her Mama, too.

Sometimes, Mama was too wrapped up in her own hijinks to mind what I got up to—but you never knew when she’d be in between motorcycle rallies and out of cigarettes and in enough of a mood to latch on to something. Mama was a lot of things—many of them positive—but she was the last person anyone with sense would turn to for advice on a technology career.

The photo of Pepper, Rose, and me at a long-ago Suntan Queen company picnic went in the box next. On that day, the three of us ate cold watermelon till our fingers got sticky, then took over the karaoke machine and sang songs by The Cure—Rose’s choice—until we got dragged off, giggling unrepentantly.

Mama had kept an eye on Lily, who could stuff herself with watermelon but couldn’t touch most of the other treats for fear of her celiac disease flaring up. I promised to bake her a whole raft of gluten-free treats later to make up for it. I made good on that promise with chocolate chip cookies, strawberry shortcake, and a whole pan of brownies—everything she’d missed out on.

It’s funny,