Tildy MacNamara is a psychic whose screwy predictions no matter how well-intentioned often leave chaos in their wake. She just woke up at forty-one to find herself without a husband, without a life, without a clue - then she inherits a "new age" bookstore in Sedona, Arizona - a mystical place where psychics (and maybe even psychos) are not only accepted, but celebrated.
There, she finds new friends, a new purpose, and a new home complete with a pain-in-the-butt ghost. The dead guy is Houston Powers, a journalist murdered twenty-five years ago while tracking down a lead on the car bombing death of newspaper reporter Don Bolles. Houston needs Tildy to find out who killed him so he can pass over. Desperate to get rid of this Saturday Night Fever wannabe, she agrees to take on the mantle of - ta da - Detective to the Dead. Tildy’s not exactly Dana Scully, but her hit-and-miss investigations somehow manages to turn up a geriatric Mafia Don who thinks he’s Elvis and would be hilarious if he wasn’t so dangerous; an enigmatic Navajo sheriff with a shocking secret; an aging playboy land developer with everything to lose if Tildy reveals his involvement in an old Arizona land scam. A powerful Senator is also determined to keep her from linking him to the land scam and the Bolles murder and destroying his career.
But what if Houston’s murder had nothing to do with any of this? What if he was murdered because somebody got scared he’d discover their long buried past? And what if everything Tildy’s digging up is a good enough reason for one of these unsavory characters to want the psychic detective dead?