Michelle Chouinard might not have intended to write a tear-jerker with her new mystery novel, The Serial Killer Guide to San Francisco, but that’s what she ended up doing via the final page in the book: the Acknowledgements. While many readers foolishly choose to skip over this part of a novel, some of the best “tidbits” and nuances can be found within these few (or sometimes copious) paragraphs. And in Chouinard’s case, the “IRL” research that went into centering her novel around a San Francisco tour guide named Capri Sanzio is revealed in terms of actually visiting these places with her dog, Lyssa, to gain more character and plot perspective. The “twist” in the Acknowledgements page, of course, is that Lyssa ended up dying in the time between starting the book and getting it published.

As Chouinard recounts toward the end of her Acknowledgements,

I had four fur babies who were my partners in crime in writing: three cats who kept my lap warm and comfy so I had no desire to get up and stop writing, and a dog who forced me to get up anyway, accidentally providing long walks that allowed me to ponder many a plot hole. Lyssa has done that for all my books, but her role with this book went further, and farther—I went on tons of walking tours of San Francisco to work out details, all with my sweet girl strolling next to me. Because of that, I see her smiling face as I imagine the place descriptions included in this book: she trotted around the Presidio with me as I searched for the ideal place for Sylvie’s corpse, sniffed houses during the Pacific Heights architecture tour as I learned about the upper echelons of San Francisco society and braved the fog at Fort Point as I researched my finale. The day she was diagnosed with terminal hemangiosarcoma[,] part of my heart and soul died, and my world is so much darker without her pressed against me as I write. But I also know I was incredibly blessed to have her in my life for eleven years—so thank you, Lyssa, for every smile and every Kermie face and every time you rested your chin on my shoulder and for always sharing your skinny nuggets with me. Thank you for filling my life with the joy that allowed me to fill this manuscript with words. I miss you more than those words could ever possibly express.”

If that doesn’t affect someone on an emotional level, they’re clearly a monstrous animal-hater. The effect that Lyssa had on this book is, thus, succinctly conveyed by Chouinard and, as a result, her readers feel that much closer to the material. That is, if they rightfully chose to read the Acknowledgements. And maybe, at first glance, they weren’t going to, but perhaps catching sight of the first sentence in it changed their minds: “My first and most important thank you goes to anyone reading this book. Neither time nor money is easy to come by in this life and I’m honored that you chose to spend yours here.” Realizing that Chouinard can understand and empathize with the sad reality of what it takes to “absorb” literature both monetarily and temporally is what automatically makes one appreciate The Serial Killer Guide to San Francisco all the more. For so, too, did Chouinard clearly put the time and effort in to make it what it is. Something much more than just a grand homage to San Francisco and the noirish qualities it’s been imbued with for decades, starting with the likes of Dashiell Hammett—who, of course, gets mentioned in the book, along with Alfred Hitchcock.

Indeed, what would a mystery novel set in San Francisco be without a murder in the fog at the Legion of Honor? Not just any murder, though, but a copycat one. Mimicking the murder style of “Overkill Bill” a.k.a. William Sanzio a.k.a. Capri’s grandfather, who she long believed was wrongly convicted of the murders of three sex workers (referred to unabashedly as “whores” or “prostitutes” in the 1960s, when the crimes were committed). Women he paid to be his proper “date” for the night (dinner, dancing, the works) despite being a married man. To be sure, the shame that William brought on the family after the revelation of the murders was also due in part to his infidelity not just with “regular” women, but with hookers. So it is that the Sanzio family buried the “incident,” never speaking of it.

Though, of course, that doesn’t mean the public forgot, with Capri forced to reconcile with her family’s dark past at eight years old, when a school bully taunted her on the playground with, “Your grandpa was a psycho who murdered people.” Not exactly how a girl wants to find out such scandalous information. Least of all the part where the reason for his serial killer nickname is due to the fact that his murder method always consisted of “bash[ing] his…victims on the head, stab[ing] them to death, then slic[ing] their throats after the fact.” All a little bit, that’s right, overkill.

And while Capri’s obsession with knowing more about her grandfather (who she only got to visit once while he was behind bars) has likely been the contributing factor to starting a serial killer tour of San Francisco (exploring, among other “points of interest,” an apartment in the Tenderloin where Richard Ramirez raped and murdered a little girl), it couldn’t have possibly prepared her for the notion that a killer imitating her grandfather’s “work” would seem to have a fetish for murdering socialites of San Francisco (ostensibly in lieu of sex workers)—including her own ex-mother-in-law, Sylvie. And, somehow, beyond Capri’s wildest expectations, the SFPD is eyeing both her and her daughter, Morgan, as prime suspects in the case. For they were the last ones to speak to her on the phone—and not on friendly terms (Sylvie decided to cut off Morgan financially with regard to paying for her school’s tuition).  

But if all of that wasn’t enough of a whirlwind for the reader, then the Acknowledgements page at the end would surely do them in if they weren’t already (appropriate, since this book is all about getting killed). And, ultimately, finding out that a dog was underlyingly at the center of the heart and soul of what makes the book feel so emotionally charged doesn’t seem surprising. In fact, maybe it’s even less so than who the killer turns out to be (with the benefit of hindsight, of course it makes sense). For it’s never any “twist” when a dog turns out to be the lifeforce behind someone’s will not just to create, but to love at all. For they are the very definition of pure, unconditional love. Though the more cynical will argue that’s simply because they’re “too dumb” to know better. However, they probably wouldn’t have been dumb enough to vote for a fascist twice. Not in San Francisco though, one of the last “pinko” bastions in America in spite of the tech bro infiltration.

And with writers like Chouinard continuing to showcase a city as the place of magic—not to mention being a place with plenty of whimsical and significant history, murderous or otherwise—there might still be a chance for it yet to maintain some shred of its original self. As Chouinard also noted in the Acknowledgements, “I’m so lucky to have San Francisco as my muse! I’ve loved her since the day I first set foot in her as a preschooler, and decades later she never ceases to inspire and amaze me. There’s always a quirky surprise around every corner and I learn something new every time I walk down one of her streets. She’s absolutely unique, and she’s a part of my soul.” Just like Chouinard’s dog, Lyssa.

With such eloquence and emotion put forth in the Acknowledgements, Chouinard proves that not only does this part of the book matter, but it can sometimes be almost as affecting and gut-wrenching as the novel itself. Hopefully, Chouinard can find a way to top herself with her next Acknowledgements page (and, obviously, novel) in the sequel to this mystère, A Tour to Die For: A Serial Killer Guide to San Francisco Mystery. Because, as many an enterprising gumshoe knows, any mystery concept worth its weight in intrigue has to become a series (just look at Poker Face).