I'm just the messenger. Please, don't kill me. . . BRDon't hate me because I'm psychic. . .everybody else already does. My name's Clair Ivers and these days my gift seems more like a booby prize. It all started when this crazy woman tried to bribe me into skewing a reading to warm her future sister-in-law's cold feet. Then the prospective sister-in-law threatened to kill herself at the altar if I didn't give her a phony reading saying she should break off the engagement. Oh, and did I mention she ran out, leaving her three-carat rock of a ring right there on my table BRSo what's an honest woman to do Find the man who belongs to the ring, of course. And boy, have I found him. The minute I lay eyes on Jack Heron, I know he's the one. . .for me, that is. The problem is making him realize it once he finds out that I may be responsible for the flight of his fiancee. At least his grandmother likes me. Of course she thinks I'm someone else. And then there's the best man who keeps calling me f