tiffany swanson doesn't want to solve murders, she just wants to play poker. but when she sees a crime scene through the eyes of one of her opponents, she finds herself all-in to catch a killer. tiffany swanson envisions big pots and big profits on her first day as a professional poker player. what she gets instead is the inside scoop to an unsolved murder. the image of the dead man comes to her in a flash--when she bumps into the victim's brother in a las vegas casino and picks up his memory of the crime scene. now he's trying to convince tiffany to do some amateur sleuthing and help bring his brother's killer to justice. tiffany intends to do nothing of the sort. she's not a police detective. she's not a private investigator. she's not even a true-crime aficionado. and she's definitely not telepathic--or so she's desperately trying to tell herself before she becomes another family black sheep like her kooky vietnamese aunt tuna. but all evidence indicates otherwise. and if there's a teeny, tiny chance she can help solve this homicide, doesn't she have an obligation to try? hijinks and hilarity ensue when tiffany reluctantly agrees to take on the case. but she's only got one weekend to figure out "whodunit" before all the suspects flee town--taking their deadly secrets with them.