Perilous Encounter (Daring Protectors #3)

Chapter 1

Fall in New Orleans was pleasantly warm during the day and cool at night.

It was mid-October and the leaves on the trees were vibrant colors.

When Cadie Ladd wasn't rehearsing or playing at a performance, she loved to stroll down the streets and in the parks.

It was a busy season, with many festivals and events, and she looked forward to participating, as she had for many years.

Playing piano for a blues band, she had a front-row seat.

Her best friend was Genevieve Dumas, the lead singer. The band had been through a lot together but had thrived despite the challenges. New opportunities with a lot of potential were available for the group. Yet Cadie wasn't fully satisfied, though she should have been.

The band was like family and Genevieve was more a sister than a friend. There wasn't much to complain about, because Cadie had a successful career. When she moved to New Orleans, that had been her dream.

Recently, her quiet walks and alone time sparked creativity, but not only new ideas for Genevieve's arrangements.

Cadie had begun to develop songs of her own, but she didn't see where that would lead.

Going out on her own would be foolhardy.

She supposed that the performer in her sought to share the songs that poured from her soul.

She needed to put that aside and stay focused on rehearsal.

The blues progression flowed from Cadie's fingertips over the piano keys. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm pulse through her body in sync with the steady heartbeat of drums behind her.

Music was a way for Cadie to express emotions, from hardships to happiness.

The blues wasn't sad, but instead provided a sense of catharsis, even joy.

She felt a deep connection to the vibrant music culture in New Orleans.

The only missing ingredient was her own songwriting, and she just might have to do something about that.

Genevieve's booming voice filled the room, rich and full of soul that made audiences lean forward in their seats. Her best friend could sing the blues like no one else. Cadie smiled as she played, feeling the music from deep inside.

"Hold that last chord, Cadie," Genevieve said when the song ended. "Let it ring out a little longer before you resolve it. Give me space to breathe into the silence."

"Got it." Cadie made a note on the sheet music in front of her.

She stretched her hands, then repositioned them on the keys.

They had been rehearsing for two hours, and her shoulders were starting to protest the familiar ache of holding one position for too long.

But this was the work she loved. The music that poured from the piano spoke things she couldn't put into words.

Mickey twirled one drumstick between his fingers. "Shall we take it from the top?"

Genevieve shook her head. "Let's take five. I need water, and I want to talk through the bridge before we run it again."

The band members scattered toward the small kitchenette in the back corner.

Cadie stayed at the piano bench, running through a few scales to keep her fingers loose.

She rolled out a melody that had been on her mind for days.

It was just forming into what could become a full composition.

Someday she would write it properly, when she made time for her own music and not just the band's arrangements.

As she practiced at the piano, her mind wandered. She was forty years old, and that should mean something. It was true that she had a good life and a career doing what she loved. Still, she longed for more.

The band was important to her, and she wouldn't trade it for anything. But maybe there was more in her future, a way to achieve personal recognition without sacrificing what she had.

Genevieve appeared with two bottles of water. "You look like you're a thousand miles away."

Cadie accepted the water gratefully. "I was just thinking about that bridge section. I might have an idea for a countermelody that could fill out the sound."

"You have good ideas." Genevieve's smile was warm and knowing. She probably saw through Cadie's deflection but didn't push, seeming to understand when to press and when to let things rest.

They had met twenty years ago when Cadie first moved to New Orleans, two young women trying to make their way in the blues scene.

Genevieve had been singing in dive bars for tips while Cadie played piano in hotel lobbies for tourists who barely listened.

They had both been hungry for more, something with a future.

Genevieve had found it. Her voice and presence commanded attention now, drew crowds that packed venues and paid covers worth charging.

Just this summer, she had married Abe Stewart, a detective with the New Orleans Police Department who looked at her like she hung the moon. Her life had shape and purpose.

Cadie had found steady work and financial security.

She lived in a nice apartment in the French Quarter and had respect from her peers in the music community.

But she hadn't done so well in dating. For some reason, a guy rarely lasted past a couple of dates.

Even if he called again, Cadie usually lost interest. She supposed her career took priority—or she wasn't meant to marry.

After all, she hadn't found the right guy and might be destined to be alone.

"Cadie?" Genevieve's voice pulled her back to the present.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if you're feeling okay. You seem distracted today."

Before Cadie could answer, the door to the rehearsal space opened. A courier in a brown uniform stepped inside, looking around at the scattered instruments and music stands.

"I have a delivery for Cadie Ladd?"

Cadie was puzzled. "That's me."

The courier approached with a clipboard and a large envelope. "I need your signature here."

She signed, anxious to learn what the delivery was about. The envelope was official looking, with a return address from a law firm in Charleston, South Carolina. That was her hometown.

"What is it?" Genevieve said.

Cadie tore open the envelope. The letter inside was printed on cream-colored paper with a letterhead that read, Hartwell and Associates, Attorneys at Law.

She scanned the letter quickly, then felt lightheaded.

Genevieve's hand was on her arm. "Cadie, you're pale. What is it?"

"My aunt died." The words came out flat, but grief filled her. "Celia Ann. She was my father's older sister."

"I'm so sorry. What does the letter say?"

Cadie read the letter again, trying to make sense of it. "My aunt was eighty-one. She passed away. There is a historic property, Stratton House, and she named me as the sole beneficiary."

"What does that mean?"

"The attorney has requested that I come to Charleston…this week," Cadie said. "The property was a music conservatory, and I need to meet with the estate attorney to complete the title transfer."

Genevieve looked surprised.

"She loved that place," Cadie said. "I remember her talking about it when I was in high school. She and her husband ran it for years. It was a conservatory and performance space. I've only been there a few times."

The memories were hazy. Her aunt had let Cadie play the grand piano in the main hall, wanting her to hear the way it sounded. She'd only been a teen then, but Cadie still remembered the rich, full music filling the space.

Once, before he died, her father had taken her to the conservatory.

He had been so proud of his older sister and the way she had preserved the beautiful building.

Then, two years after Cadie graduated from high school, her father died of a heart attack.

It had been sudden, leaving her with a thousand things she had never said.

"How long has it been since you saw your aunt?" Genevieve asked.

"Not since my father's funeral." Cadie felt guilty about that. "I should have stayed in touch."

"You were building your life here. She must have understood that."

Cadie looked at the letter again. The formal language told her nothing about her aunt's last years or last thoughts.

The other band members hovered nearby, uncertain whether to give Cadie space or offer support.

Genevieve frowned. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Cadie said. "I suppose I must go to Charleston. The attorney wants to meet with me to discuss the estate."

"When will you go?"

"He says the property transfer requires my presence and signature, so I'd best not delay." Cadie tried to imagine herself back in Charleston, a city that held so many memories of her past. "It's a music conservatory," she said again.

"That's really something."

The historic building was dedicated to teaching, preserving, and creating music. It was a place that mattered. Cadie folded the letter then put it back into the envelope. "Can you manage without me for a few days?"

"Of course, we can manage fine." Genevieve squeezed her arm. "Take whatever time you need."

It felt like the past was reaching forward, demanding Cadie's attention after so many years.

Her father's grave was in Charleston at the cemetery she hadn't visited since the funeral. Her mother had moved to Florida years ago, retreating into grief, so Cadie had lost her too. The city held memories she had blocked out, because they were too painful.

But now her aunt had chosen to place the conservatory, a piece of her family's history, in her hands.

She slipped the envelope into her bag and returned to the piano bench.

For a while longer, she could find comfort in the rehearsal and with her friends.

The band resumed positions. Her fingers flowed over the keys, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed.

The melody that emerged was one that had been haunting her recently, one she wanted to share.

Genevieve began to sing, intuitively finding harmonies. The rest of the band fell in gradually. Mickey's drum brushes whispered against the snare, and the bass provided a foundation that grounded the improvisation.

They played until the song ended naturally, a resolution that felt right. When the last note faded, Cadie kept her hands on the keys, reluctant to break the connection.

"That was beautiful," Genevieve said. "Write that one down."

Cadie looked up at her friend. She'd found solace in the music, and a chance to claim something for herself, to step out of the comfortable shadows where she had been hiding for so long.

Genevieve spoke to the band. "Let's finish this rehearsal. We have a show Friday night, and I need you at your best."

They returned to the setlist, working through arrangements and transitions with the efficiency of musicians who knew each other's instincts.

But Cadie kept thinking about the conservatory.

It was a place where art mattered more than profit, where students learned to create beauty.

It was the kind of place where a pianist could be more than just accompaniment.

She didn't let herself hope too much. She'd spent most of her life learning to be satisfied with what she had, instead of reaching for what she really wanted. But something stirred inside her at the thought of returning to Charleston.