Mystery / Detective
Date Published: September 29, 2015
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
San Francisco Bay Area reporter Gabriella Giovanni has finally got it all together: a devoted and loving boyfriend, Detective Sean Donovan; a beautiful little girl with him; and her dream job as the cops' reporter for the Bay Herald. But her success has been hard-won and has left her with debilitating paranoia. When a string of young co-eds starts to show up dead with suspicious Biblical verses left on their bodies—the same verses that the man she suspects kidnapped and murdered her sister twenty years ago had sent to her—she begins to question if the killer is trying to send her a message.
It is not until evil strikes Gabriella's own family that her worst fears are confirmed. As the clock begins to tick, every passing hour means the difference between life and death to those Gabriella loves...
EXCERPT
Chapter
1
Saturday
Saturday
The
setting sun turns my family into dark silhouettes as I step onto the warm sand.
The beach is nearly deserted, except for a lone figure walking north of us
along the sand where the waves are crashing in from the Pacific Ocean.
A cool
breeze makes me glad I trekked to the car to retrieve my daughter’s little
lavender parka. We promised her we’d stay until the sun set.
Donovan’s
back is turned, phone held to his ear. He’s pacing in his bare feet, his jeans
rolled up, a scowl on his face from what he’s hearing. A murder. Every once in
a while he glances back at Grace kneeling in the sand playing.
Grace has
dug deep channels with a small red shovel, chatting to herself, weaving tales
about mermaids and sea creatures and fairies. She bounces a plastic dinosaur
along the sand, a prize won in kindergarten for reading two books in one week.
Everything
I’ve ever wanted is on that beach—Donovan and our daughter, Grace. My own
little family. My life.
I’m
still far away, closer to the parking lot, when I see the figure walking along
the shore is growing closer. It’s a man. His shadow, with its elongated arms
and legs, stretches across the beach until it seems to take on a life of its
own. Something about his movements seems angry and frenetic—instead of the
wandering gait of a casual sunset stroll—and sets off small alarms in my head. I walk faster, the
sand seeming to reach up and grab at my ankles, slowing my progress.
Donovan’s
pacing takes him in the opposite direction, away from Grace. He’s not paying
attention to anything besides his phone call. The man is now closer to Grace,
who seems alone on the beach, although Donovan is twenty feet away. Donovan
squints up into the pink and orange clouds, raking a hand through his perpetually
spiky hair.
The
man’s path takes him straight toward Grace. My heart races. I can’t tell for
sure, but it seems like he’s watching her. He walks at a determined clip,
covering ground much faster than me in my flat, strappy sandals. I lean over in
mid-stride and rip a sandal from one foot without stopping. Then I scoop up the
other in one fluid motion.
Still,
each step feels like my bare feet are being sucked into quicksand. I hurry, but
feel like I’m moving in slow motion.
“Grace.”
I shout, but my words are carried away on the wind. I’m breathless from
fighting the sand tugging at my feet. The breeze, which has grown stronger in
the past few minutes, whips my hair. Grace’s brown ringlets bob as she hops her
plastic dinosaur around, not noticing anything else.
Donovan
isn’t far from Grace, but now the man is closer.
At the
same moment Donovan turns and sees the look on my face, the man reaches Grace. His
long shadow falls over her small figure. She looks up with a smile and starts
chatting. He leans down. His hand reaches toward her, his fingers millimeters
from her arm. A wave of dread ripples through me. My feet feel cemented into
the sand. My mind screams, but no words come out of my open mouth. Inside, I’m
flailing and thrashing to get to Grace, but on the outside, I’m struck
immobile.
The man
reaches down and grasps Grace’s arm, turning her toward him, and the spell is
broken. I’m on wet sand running, the scream caught in my throat coming out as a
birdlike garble. I scoop Grace up onto one hip and take a step back. I gasp for
air, but I can’t breathe. My heart is going to explode in my chest.
The man
looks at me with surprise and for a split second, there is something in his
eyes that sends panic racing up into my throat, but then the look is gone, as
if I imagined it.
“Gosh.
I’m so stupid,” he says in a nasally voice. He wipes his palms on the legs of
his jeans, as if he is sweating even though the temperature is rapidly dipping
along with the sun.
Donovan
is at my side. “Gabriella, is everything okay?”
He’s
used my full name and he’s looking at me instead of Grace in my arms. Guilt
flicks through me. I’m not acting irrational or hysterical. A strange man
walked up to our daughter and grabbed her arm. Any mother would react the same,
wouldn’t she?
At first
glance, the man seems boyish with his bowl haircut, baggy jeans, and sneakers.
Up close, a few crow’s feet shows he is older. Maybe even my age—thirty. He has
feminine pink lips, and piercing blue eyes, the color of the arctic sea. The
collar of his black jacket is pulled up. His smile is all “gee, golly, shucks,”
abashed and embarrassed but doesn’t reach his eyes. He paws at his jeans with
his palms. He’s done that twice now. He’s nervous.
When he
meets my eyes again, I realize that something about him seems off, something
about his eyes, more than just their intense color. One eye is close to his
nose and the other set far apart. It’s jarring and somehow unsettling to make
eye contact.
“I’m so
sorry,” he says in that same stuffed-up sounding voice. “What a knuckle-headed
move. I should know better than to walk up to someone else’s kid like that.”
Donovan
grips my arm.
“What’s
going on here?” His words are clipped.
I’m
panting, but finally able to catch my breath. Still, the words will not come.
“Your
kid is so darn cute. She looks just like my little sister used to look. I just
wanted to say hi to her and didn’t even think that was a total bonehead move to
walk up to someone else’s kid when her parents weren’t around.” He gives an odd
smile as he says this.
“We were around.” Donovan says in a monotone,
staring the man down.
The man
looks down at the sand.
Grace
is kicking and trying to get down. My knuckles are white gripping her.
“Ow,
mama, you’re hurting me,” she says and tosses her curls in irritation.
Donovan
shoots a glance our way before turning his attention back to the man.
“You live around here?” Donovan asks,
seemingly casual, but the muscle in his jaw is working hard. His dark eyes
under thick eyebrows have narrowed and hold a glint of menace. In a second, it
alters him from the man on the cover of the “Sexiest Bay Area Cops” calendar
into something feral and dangerous.
The man
meets Donovan’s eyes and for a second it looks like he is challenging Donovan
to dispute his story, but then he looks down again and digs a sneakered toe
into the sand, reinforcing my impression that he’s a kid not a man.
“Marin.
Meeting some friends here in the city for dinner. Was early so came here to
kill some time. I didn’t mean to cause
any problems. I just wanted to say hi to her. Maybe you’re over-reacting a
bit.”
Donovan
runs a hand through his hair. His posture relaxes. Instinctively—or
luckily—this man has honed in on Donovan’s Achilles heel. We’ve talked at
length about our tendency to be overprotective parents because of our jobs, me
as a crime reporter, and him as a detective. Donovan has argued we can’t let
this affect Grace’s childhood. We need to protect her, but let her grow up
carefree. I agree. But it’s easier said than done.
We’ve,
also, talked about my irrational fear that something will happen to Grace.
This
man may not realize it, but he’s instantly off the hook with this one simple
word—Overreacting.
“Why
don’t you go head on out,” Donovan says, dismissing him.
“My
bad, really. Wasn’t using my head. Have a nice night,” the man says and turns
to leave.
I set
Grace down and Donovan wraps his arm around me.
“You
okay?”
“I
don’t know.” I don’t tell him that it felt like I was having a heart attack,
that I couldn’t breathe or move. A stranger walked up to my daughter and I
stood there, weak, helpless, frozen.
Donovan
gives me a look before we both turn and watch the man’s figure growing smaller.
We watch without saying a word. We stand there until the man turns and heads
toward the wooden boardwalk bordering the road. He never looks back.
* * *
REVIEW
AWESOME Thriller
That Will Leave You Breathless!!!
The story opens with Gabriella
Giovanni, a crime reporter for the Bay
Herald, taking a walk along the beach. Her family is with her, and as
Gabriella puts it, “Everything I’ve ever
wanted is on that beach—Donovan and our daughter, Grace. My own little family.
My life.” The words define who Ella is, but what would happen if it were
all taken away? When bodies of young women begin turning up, Ella comes
face-to-face with that possibility. Bible verses that are identical to the ones
sent to her by the serial killer that kidnapped and murdered her sister are
stuffed in the women’s pockets. Does it mean her worst nightmare has returned?
Unfortunately, she’s about to find out.
Let me get this out of the way: BLESSED
ARE THOSE WHO MOURN by Kristi Belcamino is a FANTASTIC
read!!! We’re talking uber
superb! It will make your teeth rattle, your face screw up into a little ball,
and your mouth go dry as you hyperventilate from all the tension that’s locked
into this tale. The book starts off quickly, but fair warning, once this story
gets going, it STEAMROLLS ahead catapulting you along with it! It just doesn’t
stop, and that’s good because we don’t want it to. You simply cannot read fast
enough to satisfy the need to find out what happens next. While I was tempted
to devour it in one sitting, I held myself back so I could really savor each
and every word.
I gotta say that the writing is impeccable;
we’re talking flawless. Because of this, the story flows so beautifully. Before
I knew it, I was all wrapped up and being sucked by some undertow that kept me
riveted. If I had to guess as to why it worked so well, I’d attribute it to
there not being one false note struck. It’s an incredible feat, but it’s true.
Everything is delivered with such authenticity and realism, and this transforms
this fictional story into one we care about. The quote above is an example of
how much power there is in what Ms. Belcamino writes. While some would have taken
pages to try to convey that sentiment, with the few heartfelt words, we get it.
And this holds true for all the characters and action. Everyone and everything
is so magnificently fleshed out, especially the character of Gabriella. Ella is
kept so vulnerable and so genuine, that we believe the words she speaks and
feel her pain. It’s what elevates this story into being great.
The storyline is intricately woven.
There are twists and turns, and a confluence in terms of Giovanni putting
errant pieces of what’s going on together. That moment is like a dagger to the
heart. In that second she took to fall asleep, a giant spider has fashioned a
web that she’s trapped in. Everyone begins to look like a suspect as a
full-fledged panic builds and leads us to a climactic ending that we never see
coming.
It’s one of those books that make you
envy people that haven’t discovered it. It’s because you know the immense
enjoyment that they’ll get from reading BLESSED ARE THOSE THAT MOURN. If you’re
a suspense, thriller, or mystery lover, it’s a must read. Ms. Belcamino has
jumped to the top of my list of favorite authors and I really think the next
work she comes out with should be entitled, BLESSED ARE THOSE THAT READ MS.
BELCAMINO FOR THEY SHALL BE HAPPY CAMPERS INDEED. Five trillion stars.
About the Author
Kristi Belcamino is a writer, photographer, and artist. In her former life as a newspaper crime reporter in California, she flew over Big Sur in an FA-18 jet with the Blue Angels, raced a Dodge Viper at Laguna Seca, watched autopsies, and interviewed serial killers. She is now a journalist based in Minneapolis and the Gabriella Giovanni mysteries are her first books. Find Kristi on Facebook www.facebook.com/kristibelcaminowriter or on Twitter @KristiBelcamino
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