When the guy next to me keeled over dead, I admit I almost left his ass there and bailed. Judge me if you want. I’m tired of telling Las Vegas homicide detectives that I’ve found a body. Again. My name is Violetta Graves. I’m a cocktail waitress in Las Vegas. And I see ghosts. I should’ve never attended the séance for a murdered drag queen. Because now we’re all trapped in a house with a killer. And the dead ghost hunter? He was sitting in my chair.