CHAPTER FIVE
It was with some relief that Ilse Beck opened the front door to her new client. For a moment, as she stood there, one hand holding the door open, her eyes did a once-over, examining Samantha Wright. The blonde-haired, slump-postured woman had one arm tucked against her side, a pale hand holding her wrist in a defensive way.
But she seemed in good health. Ilse smiled pleasantly and stepped aside.
“Sam, good to see you. Come on in.”
“Hey, Dr. Beck,” her new client said, swallowing and glancing over her shoulder. Her Jeep was parked in the drive again, behind the Boat. “Sorry… sorry about the voicemail,” she muttered. She didn’t quite make eye contact, a flash of shame and frustration darting over her countenance, and then she sidled past Ilse, into the house, making a beelin
