When Las Vegas cocktail waitress Violetta Graves is wrongly accused of killing her ex-boyfriend, she knows the odds are stacked against her. Still, she’ll do almost anything to avoid using her gift (hah!): the bad-luck-inducing ability to talk to ghosts. Being considered a murder suspect by hunky homicide detective Matthew Stone motivates Vie to straighten out her priorities. She’s being framed by an unknown killer, her uptight sister has lost her ever-lovin’ mind, and the hot guy she can’t resist might have to arrest her. Vie has no choice but to turn to the supernatural for help, and try to remain in good spirits.

Las Vegas cocktail waitress Violetta Graves sees spirits. No, not alcohol. Dead people. Yeah, it’s as fun as it sounds. She’s bunking with her sister and brother-in-law, who argue all the time, and her four-year-old nephew. Just as she’s finally getting her life on track, she gets a spirit visit that leads her straight to a corpse in suburbia—smack dab in the middle of her sister’s fancy neighborhood. Violetta has no choice but to call in hunky homicide detective Matt Stone, who for some crazy reason wants to date her. As she deals with her sister’s marital woes, her new job, and her wanna-be boyfriend, she discovers a terrible secret that will lead them to a revenge-driven murderer and may well send Violetta on the Other Side—permanently.

I’m staring at a magician’s body parts dangling from the ceiling. This was not how I wanted to start my Monday. Neither was talking to his dead assistant while the cops stared at me. My name is Violetta Graves. I’m a cocktail waitress in Las Vegas and I see ghosts. If the spirits don’t help me solve this tricky case fast, then I’m the one the killer will make disappear. And nobody will ever find me.

Most people don’t come to Las Vegas to lose their lives. But Sin City is full of annoying dead people—and they talk to me. My name is Violetta Graves. I’m a cocktail waitress and I see ghosts. Everywhere. They keep warning me about an impending disaster. And these spirits? They’re terrified. Now, you tell me, what is awful enough to scare people who are already dead? And how am I supposed to stop it?

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.