We are delighted to welcome author Juli D. Revezzo to Omnimystery News.
Juli is holding a one-day Kindle Countdown promotion for her mystery Murder Upon a Midnight Clear (Raven Queen Publications; November 2013 trade paperback and ebook formats) — 99¢ today only!
To introduce you to the book, she has provided us with an excerpt, the first chapter. A purchase link can be found at the end of the post.
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DECEMBER 12
Christmas sucks.
Especially on nights like this.
Detective Helene Collias studied the young woman's picture—shoulder blade length dark brown hair, bright hazel eyes, vibrant, pretty. How different she looked here, from the visage of the young woman on the gurney outside. Death changed a person's face, she knew this all too well.
A rush of air blasted from her lungs. Thank God it wasn't a child. She sent up a silent prayer for the young woman's soul. There. Now go away, Chelsea. I have work to do.
The ghost of the woman looked different as she stood there, glaring—her jeans and body pale, see through, her face gaunt, angry. She pointed to the street.
I don't understand you, Helene said. You'll have to speak if you want to be understood.
The ghostly woman didn't oblige so Helene turned back to the investigation before her. She'd just have to help solve the woman's murder the old fashioned way, she supposed.
Beyond her door with its festive Christmas wreath decorated with bows and two small kissing dolls dressed like Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, Helene knew no joy resided here tonight. She turned her attention away from her colleagues' muttered graveyard humor to study the house's owner, Sean Grant. His handsome face twisted in puzzled grief as he stood on the porch reluctant to enter his own home. Though he tried to hide it, tried to retain the capable father visage, he seemed confused, and stunned, if she'd ever seen anyone stunned. He kept pushing the sleeves of his fawn-colored coat back, pulling them down.
How funny life was. Why, of all the detectives to come out to the Grants' place for something like this, did you have to be the one on call? She hadn't seen Sean Grant since the senior cruise when they'd been rather hot and heavy for a good week, the summer of 2002, and now this. How odd life is.
No, odd doesn't cover it.
She suppressed a shudder and stepped forward, offering her hand. "Mr. Grant?"
"That's me." His hazel gaze moved over the couch, the walls, seeking answers, and finding none.
"I'm Detective Helene Collias, with Holly Municipal Police, homicide. I'm sorry for your loss, sir."
His brow furrowed, drawing deep lines across his handsome face as he nodded. "Right. I screwed up, didn't I?"
His horror and sadness permeated her and tied a knot in her chest. She jammed her hands into her pockets. "No sir. No one's saying that. Sometimes you can't foresee these things."
"Is that right, Detective?"
She winced at the bitter tone in his query. How many loved ones had shouted at her like this? She understood, even though she was just the detective assigned to his case.
He scanned the room as if seeking Chelsea. Intense pain flitted across his eyes before a mask came down. The hard father figure returned. "What happened?"
"I can't tell you much. Maybe you can help us out here. Tell us a little about your sister." She wondered how long his composure would last, for Sean hadn't gone upstairs, yet. She had and she could still smell the blood, see the brain matter staining his sister's pillow. The Vicks' vapor rub she'd slathered under her nose couldn't quite cut the stench.
His jaw worked, showing off a little dimple. "Why don't you give me your version first?"
Poor fella. She didn't want to be the one to do this. She didn't want to be here right now. She'd rather be anywhere else, any other murder scene.
He paced the porch as she explained what little she could. The dimple showed again as he peered through the door, lined with white forensics boards.
"So you think it's someone we know?" Sean asked.
Helene gave back her best blank look. "Just covering all the bases. Is there somewhere we can talk?"
He said nothing as he turned away.
Helene scanned the neighborhood. She'd have to intrude on the people next door. But she didn't get a chance to make the suggestion.
"Sean?" A shaky, young feminine voice met her ears.
Sean whipped around and gasped his sister's name, "Bianca!"
The teen scrambled up the porch steps and into his arms, bursting into tears. "She seemed fine when I last saw her." She sniffled, and looked up at him. "What happened?"
Helene noticed Sean's throat working hard to keep tears from welling up. She nodded to the blond man waiting a few steps away, hands shoved in his pockets. She bit her lip and turned to the next phase of her work, hoping for a clue that might give them an answer.
* * * *
Sean looked out the neighbor's kitchen window, thinking about his sister. Chelsea had come to the Whitfield's house, had sat in this very kitchen almost every day after school. She'd moved to El Paso after high school and hadn't wanted to leave her life there, had felt ashamed to ask for her childhood bedroom when her money and plans went down the tubes, but knew she was always welcome. She'd seemed at ease here, even to enjoy being home.
Now her contentment was gone. "It's wrong," Sean said.
The detective blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
"Our house feels wrong," he said. "I've been around other people's houses all my life, and not one of them ever felt as screwed up as mine. Or as it does now."
Detective Collias changed the subject, drawing Sean's attention away from his work, hurling questions at him he didn't know how to answer: "What about boyfriends? Did she have any boyfriends?"
Boyfriends? He looked up at her. Why do I know her? He shook his head. "She had a date last week."
"Did you get his name?"
He blew out a deep breath. "She never said."
"Have you ever seen him before?"
Sean wanted to poke his fingers in his ears and shout until he could hear nothing else. Chelsea dead. It was inconceivable! "No. Most of the people I saw her with were female." Weren't they? "Yeah, mostly other gals."
The detective's cheek twitched as she scribbled the detail down. "Names?"
"God, I don't know! Missy, Vanessa, Sally. I'm not sure of any others."
The pretty detective—what was her name? He couldn't remember right now. He clenched his fist. He didn't care. She didn't belong here. Chelsea did.
She laid a calming hand on his arm and smiled sadly. "Come on, now. Don't you think Bianca's had enough for one night?"
He bit his lip, gazing at the girl. He rubbed a hand along his sister's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Bea."
The detective turned her back and poked through the cabinets and refrigerator until she found what she sought. She rounded the table, handed Bianca a glass of Coke, and took a chair by her side, reached out and pushed hair off the girl's tear-wet face. Calm assurance shone in her liquid brown eyes. "Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight? I'd like to get y'all settled before too long, sir."
Sir? How old did she think he was?
Aren't we the same age?
He didn't think he cared. At least Detective Collias was older than Chelsea. She had survived her first years away from home. She'd made it out here alive to investigate this … this disgusting nightmare. He looked over the small, southern country style house, the Whitfield's family pictures hanging on every wall, and his breath hitched in his throat. Bile threatened but he held it back, and hoped no one noticed the tears burning his eyes.
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Photo provided courtesy of
Juli D. Revezzo
Juli D. Revezzo is a Florida girl with a love of speculative and romantic fiction and legend, and loves writing stories with all kinds of fantastical elements. She is a member of the Independent Author Network and the Magic Appreciation Tour.
For more information about the author, please visit her website at JuliDRevezzo.com and her author page on Goodreads, or find her on Facebook and Twitter.
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Murder Upon a Midnight Clear by Juli D. Revezzo
A Paranormal Novel of Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Raven Queen Publications
Tis the season … for death.
Murder reminds Detective Helene Collias of Holly PD that crime doesn't respect holidays. And the last victim she ever expected to find in her case files is the sister of her old flame, Sean Grant.
Ordinarily, Helene's psychic gifts give her an edge but this time, that gift has short-circuited. Could her lingering attraction to Sean be blurring her abilities, or is something more sinister at work?
— Murder Upon a Midnight Clear by Juli D. Revezzo
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