Hair of the Dog by Susan Slater

even have to take a number and wait for service.
    But how disappointing. For all of his supposed staunch Republican leanings, Stanley was not a registered voter. Available as public record, the voter registration office would have been a source for name and date of birth. But then maybe not being a voter wasn’t too unusual, but he did come from the group age-wise that AARP claimed had the most people active in their government. The voting record was unknown to start with so maybe it would work better to check on known facts—deaths recorded in the last five years. Patricia Evers, wife to Stanley Richardson Evers of Palm Coast, Florida. Off to the public library and the obituaries for the last five years.
    Nothing. No Evers, Patricia or otherwise, had died in Palm Coast in that timeframe. Had he even been married? A trip to the clerk of the court’s office would give marriages—the original if the couple divorced, as well as, possible others. No one with the last name of Evers divorced a Patricia or married anyone else. But then he was probably married to Patricia in Iowa and was telling the truth about only being married once. That was positive anyway. No divorces or remarriages. Yet this felt like another dead end. She was beginning to feel foolish. She’d spent a morning running around with absolutely nothing to show for it. So, what now?
    Driver’s license information wouldn’t be handed out to just anyone, so Elaine could only hope Maggie would be able to get a copy. But what could she tell Maggie as the result of a morning’s sleuthing? One last avenue—surely he’d owned a house if he lived in the area for up to five years. Off to check the real property tax rolls—again public record and available. She ended up searching the local property appraiser’s records just to double-check the lack of info uncovered by a look at the tax rolls. Maybe if he lived in the area, he rented, and that probably meant paying utilities. Another lead.
    She looked up the address of Palm Coast Water and Sewer and headed toward Utility Drive. Maybe if she told them that the family had lost track of her uncle and they feared he had Alzheimer’s, and all she wanted was a “yes” or “no” as to whether he’d lived in the community, she could get information. And it worked. Only the answer was “no.” No record of a Stanly Evers paying a water/sewer bill in the last five years. Or ever, for that matter. The clerk was absolutely certain. So, still nothing. For all intent and purposes, the man never existed—at least not in this part of the world.
    She couldn’t just give up. Think. Maybe it would make sense to just start at the source. How big could Ackley, Iowa, be? Would the hospital have records of births from 1955? She thought they probably would. And wouldn’t there be other Evers in the town? Brothers, sisters, maybe? At least aunts, uncles, or cousins. She needed to go home, pick up a phone and do some calling. The one area that she was avoiding was anything having to do with criminal activity. Many counties put their criminal records online. She could take a look at Flagler County, and stop wasting gas.
    ***
    She made a pot of coffee and lost the battle to ignore the last cheese Danish in the fridge. She had to wait until Beverly Simpson in the Ackley, Iowa, courthouse got back from lunch, so she might as well use her time to fortify herself. Eastern Standard Time meant Ms. Simpson was an hour behind and had just left. Elaine requested voicemail and hoped the woman would check her messages first thing. And she wasn’t disappointed.
    Elaine started to explain that she was trying to track the family of one Stanley Richardson Evers, born in Ackley in 1955 and later moved to Ames, when she was interrupted.
    â€œThere are no Evers in this community.”
    Elaine, afraid she was going to hang up, asked her to check the record of births for that