Maybe, since Susan had already sold the house, she hadn’t listed her town as Stony Point. Annie cleared the box for the bride’s town and hit Enter again. No records found that meet your search criteria.
Her frown deepened.
“Fine,” she murmured and expanded the dates of the search to cover 1985 through 2005. “If Susan was married anywhere in Maine anytime within those twenty years, this will find her.” No records found that meet your search criteria.
She went back to the browser and tried a few more sites, but those came up with nothing, wanted a written request for information, or charged for their services. Until she had a bit more to go on, Annie wasn’t ready to go that route.
The marriage part was going to be a little more difficult than she expected. Maybe finding Aunt Kim would be a little easier.
She brought up the telephone directory Grace had suggested and entered the return address from Susan’s New York letters. Almost instantly, she had a telephone number and a name. It wasn’t Kimberly Morris as she had hoped, but it was a place to start.
“All right, Mayberry, Sheldon H., let’s see what you know.” Annie stepped outside to call the number on her cell phone and waited while it rang. And rang. And rang. Just as she was about to give up, there was a click on the other end of the line.
“Hello? Is that you, Carol Ann?” The voice clearly belonged to an elderly woman. “You were supposed to call me yesterday. You never called.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. This isn’t Carol Ann.” Annie felt a little bit guilty for the shortcoming. “My name is Annie Dawson. I’m calling—”
“No, I’m sorry, young lady, but you must have the wrong number. There’s no Annie Dawson here.”
“No, ma’am, my name is Annie Dawson. Are you Mrs. Mayberry?”
“Why, yes, I am.” Annie could hear the smile in the old woman’s voice. “Did Carol Ann ask you to call me?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t know Carol Ann. But I was wondering if you could answer a question for me.”
“I’m not going to give you my Social Security number.”
Annie had to force herself not to laugh at the sudden fierce determination she heard.
“No, ma’am. You shouldn’t ever give that out to anyone. I’m just trying to find out about someone who used to live at your house a long time ago. I’m trying to find a friend of mine, and this lady was her aunt. Would you mind telling me how long you’ve lived there?”
“Let’s see, it was November of 1988. I remember because it was Carol Ann’s thirty-fifth birthday.”
“You don’t happen to remember who lived there before you, do you?”
Mrs. Mayberry laughed softly. “I let my husband take care of all the details. All I remember is we got the place because the lady who lived here had just passed away. Her name was Monroe or Morrison or something like that. I know it started with an M, because it was the same as our last name.”
“Could it have been Morris?”
“Oh goodness, honey, it’s been more than twenty years now. I couldn’t say for sure.”
“But you say the previous tenant had passed away back in ’88?”
“That’s what we were told. I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help to you.”
“No, Mrs. Mayberry, you’ve been a lot of help. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You didn’t disturb me at all, honey. You call back anytime.”
Annie thanked her and hung up the phone. So much for finding Kimberly Morris there. Had she been the tenant who passed away in 1988? It was certainly possible.
After consulting with Grace once again, she spent a considerable amount of time trying to navigate the death records for the state of New York. Finally, she found a site used by genealogical researchers that claimed to have New York obituaries from 1988 forward. She typed “Kimberly Morris, 1988, New York City.” That brought up forty-six different records, so she added “Jack” and “Ellen” to the search.
“Bingo.”
There was a notice in the October 7, 1988, issue of the New York Times.
MORRIS — Kimberly Denise, 53. Staff Artist, Plus du Monde Chic. Died of complications of pneumonia at Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center on October 5, 1988. Survived by brother, Jack Morris; sister-in-law, Ellen Morris; and niece Susan Morris, all of Stony Point, Maine. She will be missed.
Poor Susan. Another loss. Annie knit her brows and tried to remember some of her high school French. Plus du Monde Chic. “More of the Fashionable World”? That sounded close enough. Aunt Kim must have worked for a small fashion magazine. What fun Susan must have had living with her while she went to high school.