The “what ifs” kick in when I am about to start a new mystery. Like what if a woman who owns a junkyard wants Isabel Long to investigate the death of her father in a house fire? What if a baby was stolen from the front yard when her brother was lured away? What if a literary agent was shot in the head but survived? 

But for Finding the Source, the eighth book in the series, I had a real life encounter on the day of my mother’s funeral that inspired this book’s “what if”.

Hank and I had time before we had to be at the funeral home, so we took a walk through my hometown’s downtown. That’s where a man I didn’t know rushed toward me and announced, “My grandmother was murdered 46 years ago, and her case was never solved.” 

Naturally, I was intrigued.

I asked for his grandmother’s name and other details — no surprise given my background in journalism. Later, when I was back home, a little online research showed me the story was true. (By the way, Hank, a bit stunned, asked me, “How do you attract people like that?”)

In Finding the Source, Isabel and her 93-year-old mother Maria, her partner in solving crimes, are in the city of Mayfield where they are invited to lunch by a person from a previous case. (More on that in another post.) True to form, they are early, so they decide to take a little walk. There, they are approached by a homeless man who startles them with a story about finding his mother murdered when he was only twelve. 

True to form, I took my own experience and had my way with it in Finding the Source. I don’t know the background of the man who approached me. I didn’t even get his name. But what if Isabel is approached by a homeless man who has struggled with the murder of his mother, a seller of vintage books? What if it happened in Dillard, where Isabel must once again deal with its police chief?

Here’s a scene from that meeting. I will let Isabel tell you about it herself.

My attention refocuses on a man who walks fast across the library’s lawn. He has mostly white hair long past a decent cut that hangs almost to his shoulders, a full beard, and a purpose in his step. That determination makes me wonder if he is going to ask us for directions or more likely spare change since he appears rather under-dressed for today’s weather in a hooded sweatshirt instead of a heavy jacket. His jeans are worn at the knees. A backpack is slung over one shoulder.

The man stops a few feet in front of us, startling my mother who was concentrating on the library. As usual, I plan to take charge.

“My mother was murdered forty-three years ago, and her case was never solved,” the man announces in a loud voice.

Ma and I glance at each other. This was unexpected.

“Your mother was murdered?” I say, and the man needs no invitation to take another step closer.

“Her name’s Abigail. Abigail McKenzie. Mine is Tom, Tom McKenzie,” he says. “She was found beaten and strangled in our home. The cops back then did a lousy job investigating.”

Frankly, I am a bit stunned. I believe it’s the same for my mother because her mouth hangs open like she wants to say something but doesn’t know what. I study the man’s face, noting the stubble of whiskers and deep lines. Perhaps if I step closer, I might smell booze on his breath, but hold on, Isabel, let’s not jump to any conclusions. Keeping an open mind served me well as a reporter and now, as a private investigator. Maybe my mother and I simply appear approachable.

“I’d like to hear more,” I say.

“You do?” he asks with a tone of disbelief in his voice. 

I’m guessing he’s been turned away or ignored many times. Forty-three years? That could have happened a lot.

My mother pats my arm. 

“My daughter is a private investigator.”

“You’re a private investigator?” Tom McKenzie says. “You ever take cases like this?”

I have no idea how serious this man is or whether he’s dishing me a load of bull, but I can’t dismiss an opportunity to help a person do right. The people who have hired me have included a drug dealer, junkyard owner, and a noted poet. So, why not a perfect stranger who found me by chance on the street of a city I rarely visit? But I definitely would need a lot more before I seriously consider it. 

Here’s the link for Finding the Source if you would like to read it. And if you enjoy it, please leave a rating or a review. Thanks if you do.