In retrospect, aside from the fact that it was the last day of Jacob Levin's life, there was nothing unusual about that Monday in November 1983. Until, that is, Jacob's wife, former screen star, Magda St. Martin called me for help. I was a private investigator. I was also a psychic. Five years before, I had searched for Magda's missing teenaged daughter. I had never found her, and the case has haunted me for years. Now Magda had lost two husbands and a daughter under mysterious circumstances. She wanted me to protect her from whomever was stalking her family and to independently investigate the case. From the beginning, I knew Magda, her secretary, Laurel and her gardener, Rolf were lying to me. As I uncovered secret after secret, I felt farther and farther from the truth until the final macabre moments.