As I was growing up, I believed my father was murdered. He was a horse trainer at the time, and he died at the track, tending to his horses. Maybe my theory was my not wanting to believe my father's death was natural. For a long time, I saw his death as a betrayal--an abandonment of my mother and me. Years went by, and I was angry--not simply grieving but angry. Eventually, I moved to acceptance. I ceased to believe he was murdered--or, I no longer dwelled on it. My father was an even-tempered man as well a very reasonable, but some might have profited by his death. At least, I thought so. Much of this was the product of my childish imagination and the fact that I wanted someone, anyone, to pay for his passing.
A Fair Grounds Mystery, my latest book, begins with a body discovered in a cemetery, but that body is linked to a cold case involving a race track murder many years before. Like my father, a horse trainer died of seemingly natural causes at the race track. Like me, his daughter always believed he was the victim of foul play, not natural causes. Unlike Iseult O'Flannery, I no longer believe my father was murdered, but like her, I still want someone, maybe the cosmos, to pay.