CHAPTER NINE
Ilse reached for her old, dumb flip phone on the nightstand, unable to fall asleep—haunted by Hilda Mueller. Haunted by the postcard. Maybe she should call Dr. Mitchell—someone else. She shifted on her bed, but the moment her fingers made contact, the phone buzzed and she jerked with a surprised yelp.
Her hand retracted automatically, and she stared the buzzing phone, swallowing hard. She reached out trembling fingers in the dark of her old lake house, and took the phone in hand. Lifting it slowly, she answered, “Hello?”
“Dr. Beck?” said a voice on the other line.
Ilse went still. Samantha again. Her new client. She felt another jolt of selfish thinking. Samantha’s case was too much, triggering Ilse’s own memories. Maybe she ought to drop her as a client.
No. She couldn’t
