Chapter 2
Once in her apartment, Cadie flopped onto her bed, exhausted. She just wanted to rest but wasn't sure when she'd get a flight out. Instead of giving in to sleep, she got up and started laundry. Then she had a late snack while she started to pack.
She hadn't been to Charleston in a while. The weather was like New Orleans, but a bit cooler this time of year. She'd dress in layers. Involvement in planning the trip allowed her thoughts to wander.
Her aunt was on her mind, because the cause of death was unclear. The letter said she'd passed from natural causes, but that was so general. Cadie tried to picture her aunt as she was at her father's funeral. She realized that she lacked information about her aunt's health over the last few years.
It was too late to call the attorney, but he'd mentioned that any day this week would be good.
It was only Tuesday. She went online and was able to book a flight for the next day, along with an airport shuttle.
In the morning, she would get an appointment at the law firm.
With that settled, Cadie headed for bed.
If she could stop thinking about the past, she could get a good night of sleep. She'd probably need it.
*****
The flight from New Orleans to Charleston was smooth.
She picked up a rental car and drove through streets that were familiar.
Charleston had grown, which wasn't surprising.
New restaurants occupied old buildings, and construction cranes dotted the skyline where historic preservation met modern development.
But the spirit of the city remained the same.
Cadie found her hotel near the historic district without difficulty. She had chosen it for its proximity to Stratton House. The hotel lobby was small and elegant, with gleaming wood floors and furniture that looked like actual antiques rather than reproductions.
The woman behind the desk greeted her with a smile that showed genuine warmth. "Welcome to the Palmetto Inn. Checking in?"
Cadie gave her name and watched the woman pull up her reservation. The check-in process was quick and efficient.
The woman handed over a physical key attached to a brass tag. "You're in room twelve, second floor. Breakfast is served in the dining room from seven to nine. Is this your first time in Charleston?"
"No, I grew up in Charleston. But it's been a few years since I've been here."
The woman's smile grew warmer. "Welcome back. Let me know if you need anything during your stay."
Cadie took the elevator up to the second floor. Room twelve was at the end of the hall, a corner room with windows facing two directions. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The space was small but charming, with a four-poster bed and a writing desk positioned near one window. The bathroom was updated but maintained a historic feel with its claw-foot tub and subway tile. The fresh flowers on the desk emitted a light fragrance.
She set her suitcase on the bed and walked to the window. Historic homes lined the street with facades painted in traditional green, yellow, and blue tones, their gardens visible behind iron gates. Below, a horse-drawn carriage passed by carrying tourists.
By the time she finished unpacking, the afternoon sun slanted through the window at an angle that suggested she had a few hours before dinner.
Cadie changed into comfortable walking shoes and headed out to reacquaint herself with the city.
Her appointment with the attorney was the following day, which gave her a chance to orient herself to her surroundings.
The October weather was warm, with a breeze that carried the salt smell of the harbor.
She wandered through the historic district, walking over cobblestone streets.
Cadie had always loved the city. She'd left for career reasons, seeking opportunities as a pianist. That had worked out, but it did feel good to be back in her hometown—if only it had been under other circumstances.
She craved seafood, so decided to eat at Fleet Landing.
They were known for good Southern fare. The restaurant had sweeping waterfront views of the Copper River, with a wraparound deck.
She ordered shrimp and grits, a dish she had not eaten since leaving Charleston.
The food was excellent, rich with butter and spice.
As she ate, her thoughts drifted to her father. He had loved Charleston, had been proud of his roots here. His funeral had been the last time she'd visited the city.
Her mother had moved to Florida, unable to bear the memories that Charleston held. Cadie understood the desire to escape places that reminded you of loss. But her mother had also withdrawn from Cadie, as if grief had consumed her capacity for connection.
Cadie finished her dinner and walked back to the hotel as evening settled over the city.
Lights came on in windows, and restaurant patios filled with diners enjoying the pleasant weather.
Back in her room, she laid out clothes for the next day and reviewed the information the attorney had sent.
The meeting was scheduled for the morning.
She didn't plan to be in Charleston long. After signing the papers and accepting the transfer of Stratton House, she would be done—except for handling the property. The attorney might have a suggestion about that.
*****
Thursday morning arrived with clear skies and the promise of another beautiful day.
Cadie showered and dressed, then went down to breakfast. She wasn't sure how long the meeting would take, or what would be involved.
Once she figured that out, she could book a return flight to New Orleans and let Genevieve know when she'd be back.
After a second cup of coffee, Cadie went to her room to freshen up before leaving.
The attorney's office was in the historic district, housed in a building that looked like it had been standing since before the Civil War.
Cadie arrived fifteen minutes early and sat in her car for a moment, looking at the ornate facade.
Whatever happened in the next hour would determine what came after.
She could sell the property immediately and return to New Orleans, or she could explore what it might mean to own a piece of her family's history.
She locked the car and walked into the building.
The receptionist was expecting her and showed her to a conference room, where she waited only a few minutes before the attorney arrived. He was in his fifties, with silver hair and a kind face that seemed well suited to delivering both good news and bad.
"Ms. Ladd, I'm Thomas Hartwell. Thank you for coming so quickly." He shook her hand and gestured for her to sit at the polished conference table.
"Of course. I was sorry to hear about my aunt."
"She was a remarkable woman. I had the privilege of knowing her for many years." Hartwell opened a folder and spread several documents on the table between them. "I'll walk you through the estate, but the essential point is simple. Your aunt named you as her sole beneficiary."
Cadie tried to absorb that news.
"The primary asset is Stratton House, a historic building that has served as a music conservatory for decades. Your aunt and her late husband owned it for many years. After his death, she continued running it until her health declined. The building has been mostly closed this past year."
Hartwell slid a photograph across the table.
The building was beautiful, three stories of ornate architecture that was from Charleston's antebellum period, meaning before the Civil War.
The structure's tall windows suggested large interior spaces, and a brass plaque near the entrance identified Stratton House Conservatory.
"It needs restoration work," he said, "but the structure is sound. The building is historically significant and well known in Charleston's music community. Your aunt was dedicated to preserving it."
"I remember visiting," Cadie said. "I walked through the building when I came for my father's funeral. There was a grand piano in the main hall."
"It's still there. Your aunt wanted very much for the conservatory to continue serving the community." Hartwell paused. "Which brings me to some additional instructions she left."
Cadie looked at him. "What kind of instructions?"
"In her final months, your aunt voiced some concerns to me. There was nothing specific, but she felt that something was off. She was quite insistent that upon her death, certain steps should be taken."
"I thought she died of natural causes."
"The death certificate lists heart failure, which at her age seemed natural. But your aunt's instructions were very clear. She wanted an investigator hired to look into the circumstances of her death."
Cadie stared at him. "She hired a private investigator?"
"Exactly that. Since the will has been read and you're here, the investigation can proceed."
A chill ran down Cadie's spine. "Did she say why she had concerns?"
"She didn't specify. She simply said she felt odd, that things did not seem quite right. She trusted her instincts and voiced her concerns. Yet she couldn't offer details, and no action was taken before her death."
"But you think the death certificate is correct, right?"
"I have no reason to think otherwise," Hartwell said. "The death appeared to be heart failure in an elderly woman with a history of cardiac issues. But your aunt was adamant about this, and I am honor-bound to follow her wishes."
Cadie tried to process this information.
Her aunt had felt something was wrong but could not say what.
That suggested either legitimate concern or perhaps the confusion that sometimes came with advanced age.
But the fact that she'd had the presence of mind to leave instructions argued against confusion.
"When will the investigator start?"
"I will let him know that the will has been read. He can begin right away." Hartwell reached across his desk for a business card. "Your aunt specifically requested this particular investigator. She knew him when he was younger and trusted him."
He handed the card to Cadie. She looked down at the simple white card with black lettering: Barrett Anson, Private Investigator, with a phone number and email address.
"Barrett Anson?" Cadie said.
Hartwell looked at her with interest. "You know him?"
"We went to high school together." Cadie stared at the card. "I had no idea he became a private investigator."
"He has a good reputation. He's former military and very thorough in his work. Your aunt felt he was the right person for this task. He's in Charleston to handle the investigation."
Cadie's mind raced with memories. Barrett was the football player who had left the summer after graduation to become a Navy SEAL. He'd kissed her in the parking lot after a school dance and told her he'd write—but he hadn't.
She looked up to find Hartwell watching her with concern. "I'm just surprised. It's been a very long time since I've seen him."
"Well, you will likely see him again soon.
He will need access to the property and will speak with people who knew your aunt in her final months.
" Hartwell slid a piece of paper across the table.
"This is contact information for Olivia Stewart.
She has been your aunt's caregiver for the past several years.
She may have some of your aunt's personal effects and can tell you about her final months. "
Cadie took the paper, adding it to the growing collection of information. The attorney talked more about the title transfer of the property, but the legal rules went by her. Her mind was on her aunt, and she trusted that the attorney would deal with the property ownership details.
"The property is yours, Ms. Ladd. I have the keys here.
" He produced a small key ring with several keys.
"I suggest you visit when you are ready and see what your aunt has entrusted to you.
And there is a key to her home. That hasn't been put on the market yet.
You should look around. She also left you her personal property. "
They spent the next twenty minutes reviewing paperwork.
Cadie signed documents transferring the title.
Hartwell explained the financial situation, which was straightforward.
Her aunt had modest savings and no debts.
The building was the estate's real value.
Her aunt had named Hartwell as the executor of the will, so he would handle all the details.
Finally, the meeting concluded. Hartwell stood and offered his hand again. "I'll be in touch. Please contact me if you have any questions. And again, my condolences for your loss."
"Thank you for everything."
Cadie left the building and stood on the sidewalk, momentarily uncertain of what to do next. She held the ring of keys in her palm. In her purse was a business card with Barrett Anson's name on it.
She got into her car and sat behind the wheel without starting the engine. Barrett was a private investigator in California and had come to Charleston to investigate her aunt's death. Surely it would be a routine investigation.
She wondered why her aunt hadn't contacted her sooner about her worries. But then, maybe she hadn't been confident about being believed. But Cadie was sure that there couldn't be anything to this. Her aunt had been a beloved member of the family and the community. She'd died of natural causes.
The first thing to do was visit Stratton House. She wanted to see the property before she faced Barrett Anson—and an investigation.
Cadie started the car and pulled into traffic. It appeared that she might not leave Charleston as quickly as anticipated.