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

her car.’
    ‘Doesn't mean it came from the spa,' AnnaLise protested. 'And even if Tanja Rosewood did pilfer a bottle when she was up there, it certainly wouldn't be Joy's fault. It's not the spa's responsibility to protect people from their own . . .’
    AnnaLise realized she had been about to echo Mama's earlier statement about fencing off the mountain and the lake to protect people from their own stupidity.
    ‘You might believe that,’ Chuck said, going to pick up his phone. ‘But I've got an inkling from what your friend “Ben” said, that he's not in total agreement.’

Ten
    AnnaLise tried Joy Tamarack's cell phone on the walk back home, but the call went immediately to voicemail, a sure sign that the cell tower coverage was spotty wherever Joy was – not unusual in the mountains.
    Turning off Main onto 2nd street, AnnaLise unlocked the door to her childhood home. Half of the two-story concrete block building's first floor was allotted to the retail space now rented to Tucker Stanton for Torch, so the front door of the unconventional living space opened directly into the kitchen. A tiny parlor completed the lower level, with a staircase leading up to the second. The upper level had twice the square footage of the lower, since it ran above not only the kitchen and parlor, but also all of Torch.
    ‘Daisy?’ AnnaLise called, not expecting an answer. When her mother wasn't down the block, helping Mama with the restaurant, she was at Torch, doing ditto for Tucker. In fact, Tucker had become the son Daisy never had and AnnaLise was grateful to have his back-up when she wasn't around.
    Getting no response, AnnaLise dug the phone book out of the bottom of a desk drawer to look up the Sutherton Spa at the Hotel Lux. Finding no listing, she searched the pages for Tail Too's old number.
    Bingo.
    Suspicious, AnnaLise checked the date on the phone book. As she suspected, the thing dated back to the last time she'd been home, five years ago.
    The sound of keys in the door and her mother entered. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Looking for a phone number.’ AnnaLise showed her the date on the book. ‘Where's the new one?’
    ‘Heaven's, who uses phone books anymore? If I need a number, I just go online. Wherever did you find that old directory?’
    ‘In the desk drawer under the mailing supplies.’
    ‘Well, that explains why I didn't see it,’ she said, taking the book and dumping it in the wastebasket under the sink. ‘I never go in that drawer.’
    ‘You don't send things?’
    ‘Of course I do, but not snail-mail. I even pay my bills online.’ Daisy pulled a small roll out of the drawer in question. ‘You know what these are?’
    ‘Stamps?’ AnnaLise tried, anticipating one of her mother's trick question.
    ‘Not just stamps,’ Daisy said, ‘but “Forever” stamps. The US Post Office doesn't issue the first-class ones with denominations anymore. You know why that's good?’
    ‘Because these stamps can be used forever?’
    ‘Correct! Which is how long a single roll lasts these days.’ Daisy tossed the stamps back into the drawer.
    AnnaLise wanted to cry for the poor feckless stamps, as well as their unloved brethren: stationery and envelopes. And don't even get her started on cursive writing.
    ‘The post office is going bankrupt because of you,’ she pointed out.
    ‘Hey, evolve or go the way of the dinosaurs.’
    ‘I'm not sure dinosaurs died out because they didn't evolve,’ AnnaLise said, defending her kind. ‘Scientists think maybe a meteor or – ’
    ‘Meteor, shmeteor,’ Daisy said, punching something into AnnaLise's computer. ‘You know what I mean, AnnaLise, so why do you insist on correcting me?’
    ‘I . . .’ she paused to reflect. ‘Well, I'm not sure, honestly. It's just what I do.’
    ‘It's the reporter in you, I suppose,’ Daisy said, in the same tone one might blame a black sheep on the other side of the family. ‘Here.’ She stepped aside.
    ‘Sutherland Spa at the Hotel