Publisher's Synopsis
It's bad enough to wake up bound and hanging from the ceiling light fixture in a strange hotel room, barely able to breathe and gagging on your own saliva, but it's even worse when someone is laughing at you. That someone, being my non-corporeal pal Max Greer, the brash, hard-drinking, cigar smoking, sexist and very dead detective who just can't seem to retire from the police force and leave me the hell alone. Although right now his help would come in handy if only he'd to stop laughing and do something useful like call 911 or learn to untie all those annoying Boy Scout knots digging into my back, but as he so sweetly reminds me, "I'm a ghost, not some damn Houdini."
