Dead Ends (Main Street Mysteries Book 2) by Sandra Balzo

drunk. Right down to waking up the next morning ashamed of yourself.
    ‘. . . and no matter how stirred up we get, eventually we're left with exactly what we started with.’ Joy nodded significantly at the overflow of their frozen margarita, melted and running on the table between them. Three people. Like the ingredients of a margarita. And whatever you do, your love and his spouse will always be its main ones – tequila and lime juice.’
    Against her will, AnnaLise was impressed. ‘Go on.’
    ‘You, my friend, are – all you ever can be – is the triple sec. The splash of flavor. My metaphor is, forgive me, brilliant, right down to the triple in triple sec. The third wheel.’
    Joy's expression suddenly changed, and she pointed at the rivulet of green liquid just starting to trickle off the edge of the table and onto the thighs of AnnaLise's jeans. ‘Leaving you home alone, with nothing to show for it but a sticky crotch.’
    Joy Tamarack managed to stand up in one, graceful motion. ‘Now that's a metaphor.’

Fourteen
    Joy Tamarack was both crude and . . .
    No, ‘crude’ pretty much captured it.
    Nonetheless, before her friend left, AnnaLise had broached the subject of including a blog on the new Sutherton Visitor website. Joy had liked the idea and suggested they get together, sans margaritas, at the spa at nine a.m. the following day.
    The more the journalist thought about it, the more she thought the blog was a good idea. The doctors – first Tucker's father, Dr Jackson Stanton, and now her mother's neurologist – had suggested writing and word games like crossword puzzles and the like to keep Daisy's mind engaged, especially now that she was no longer running the store.
    Now, on Wednesday morning, one foot in the leg of her jeans – a clean pair, thank you very much – as AnnaLise dressed toward driving up the mountain to the spa, something occurred to her: her mother's cognitive ‘shifts’ had started after she had closed the shop and rented the space to Tucker. Though Daisy continued to help Mama – writing up the menu boards as she had for as long as AnnaLise could remember, and hostessing, and handling the cash register – Daisy no longer had the day-to-day responsibility of running a business on her shoulders. Or on her mind.
    Good, in some ways, but could it be part of the reason she'd slowed down so noticeably?
    AnnaLise wasn't sure, but an added benefit of the blog was that, perhaps once mounted and running, Daisy should be able to take over responsibility for its coordination. People like Mama and Ida Mae would have plenty of stories to tell and their contributions would keep the job from becoming too burdensome in the search-for-Sutherton-anecdotes sense. Not only would it be good for all of them, but it was a great way of preserving the area's history and lore.
    Who knows, maybe there was even a book in it. AnnaLise zipped up her jeans, wishing she hadn't had that extra half-margarita yesterday. The things had a ton of calories in them, as fastening her top button confirmed.
    Grabbing her cell phone and handbag, AnnaLise descended the stairs from her room and left via the front door, locking it behind her. Daisy had already been up and gone when AnnaLise awakened late – and groggy – at quarter past eight. Yet another reason to regret the margaritas. She wasn't going to make her 9 a.m. meeting with Joy.
    Happily, Daisy hadn't gone farther than Mama's, so AnnaLise had the use of her mother's car, still parked conveniently down the street while the garage work was being done. She started the Chrysler and pulled away from the curb.
    As AnnaLise passed the garage, she saw Joshua Eames patching the concrete wall between its doors. Apparently, Mr Eames had won the one-door-or-two issue, resulting in the status quo of a pair.
    ‘Morning, Josh,’ AnnaLise said, coming to a stop and turning off the engine after having driven all of twenty feet. At this rate, she wouldn't make the spa before