Fall is in the air, and to celebrate there's a masquerade ball at the Mortimer manor where socialites and dapper men abound. But when someone drops dead in the middle of the dance floor, fingers are pointed at everyone—including the deceased. Shep is as ornery as ever. Whoever keeps sending me those threatening notes has grown far more brazen, and my insights to the future have not only increased, but I've just seen a glimpse of something that I want no part of. With my luck—that will be the only vision that comes to fruition just the way it's threatened to.
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