CHAPTER FIVE
Ilse pulled The Boat into the driveway of the quaint, beige suburban home. A nice neighborhood, bordering Seattle, a few people peering through the windows to watch the arrival of the Toyota Avalon. Ilse brushed her hair past her ear, rolling her fingers on the steering wheel for a moment as she peered up at the house.
No crime scene tape. No policeman posted. A suicide meant no further investigation.
At least the house wasn't gray.
Ilse glanced towards her flip phone which rested on top of a stack of papers. Donovan had dropped her back off at her apartment so she could print the police report Rawley had forwarded.
The car ride from the wake with Donovan had passed in quiet. Both of them grieving in their own ways. Both of them, as therapists, feeling the weight of oblig
