Chapter 4
Barrett stood in the doorway, caught in Cadie's gaze. She spoke his name and broke the spell.
He stepped into the performance hall, his footsteps echoing on the old wooden floor. "I didn't expect to see you here."
She rose from the piano bench with the same grace he remembered. She moved toward the edge of the stage. "I just found out you were the investigator," she said. "Mr. Hartwell gave me your card this morning."
Barrett reached the stage as she descended the steps. She was taller than he remembered, or maybe he had forgotten the details over so many years. Her dark hair was longer, falling past her shoulders in waves. She wore jeans and a simple sweater, nothing fancy, but she looked beautiful.
He cleared his throat. "I had no idea you were the heir—not until I saw you sitting at that piano."
"I got the letter about Aunt Celia Ann's passing two days ago." Cadie reached the floor and stood a few feet away from him. "I flew in yesterday."
Barrett looked at her. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." She seemed composed. "I didn't know her well in recent years."
An awkward silence stretched between them. Barrett searched for something to say that wouldn't sound ridiculous.
Cadie saved him by gesturing toward the hallway. "I haven't really looked around much since I got the keys this morning. Would you mind walking through with me? I'd like to see what she left me."
"Of course." Barrett was grateful for something concrete to focus on. "I've done a brief walk-through already, but I can show you the layout."
They moved toward the hallway side by side. Barrett was hyperaware of her presence beside him.
He led the way through the main corridor, pointing out architectural details as they went. Slipping into investigator mode felt safer than trying to navigate the personal minefield between them.
"The building dates back to the mid-1800s," he said. "Your aunt and her husband maintained it for decades. The structure is sound, but it needs restoration work."
Cadie ran her hand along the wall as they walked, her fingers tracing the ornate molding. "I remember it being more vibrant, when it was filled with students and music."
"It's been closed this past year," Barrett said, "after your aunt's health declined."
They passed several rooms that had once been music studios.
Cadie paused at the doorway of one, looking at the old instruments stored inside.
A cello leaned against the wall, and a music stand was folded in the corner.
She stepped inside and ran her fingers over the dusty surface of an upright piano.
Barrett watched her hands, remembering her graceful fingers moving over the keys with such skill moments ago. He recalled watching her play at a school assembly once, and how she had seemed transported by the music.
"There's so much potential here," she said, "despite the neglect."
They continued through the teaching rooms, smaller spaces with chairs and music stands scattered about. Cadie paused in one that had sheet music still stacked on shelves.
"My father used to bring me here sometimes," she said. Her voice was softer, tinged with emotion. "He was so proud of Aunt Celia Ann and what she'd built. The way she contributed to the community."
Barrett saw grief flicker across her face. He wanted to say something comforting but couldn't find the right words. "I remember that she was well respected in Charleston. People loved what she did for the music culture."
Cadie had tears in her eyes. Then she turned away and moved back into the hallway. Barrett followed, giving her space to compose herself.
There was a door that led to a courtyard behind the building.
The outdoor space was larger than Barrett had realized from his earlier walk-through.
An overgrown garden sprawled across the area, and an old fountain sat in the center, no longer working.
Vines had claimed most of the wrought-iron fencing.
Cadie stepped outside and paused, taking in the beauty. Sunlight filtered through the old oak trees that bordered the property, dappling the ground with shadows. "She loved this place."
Barrett stood beside her. "I remember. She poured her life into it." He tried not to notice the way the breeze caught strands of her hair, or the thoughtful expression on her face. He tried to maintain a professional distance.
Back inside, Barrett shifted to small talk about their lives. The conversation was careful, avoiding anything too deep or too personal. "How's New Orleans treating you?"
"It's been good. The music scene is vibrant, lots of opportunities," Cadie said. "I play piano in a blues band. The lead singer is my best friend, Genevieve. We've been working together for a long time."
"That's great. You always had real talent."
She glanced at him. "What about you…how are things in California?"
"I opened a PI firm in Los Angeles. Two of my former SEAL teammates are business partners.
" He kept his tone casual, leaving out the hard parts.
The missions that went wrong, the friends he'd lost, the reasons he'd needed to build walls around himself.
"We do investigations, security consultations, background checks, and more. "
"Sounds interesting," Cadie said. She didn't push for details, seeming to understand there was more he wasn't saying.
When Cadie stumbled slightly on a loose floorboard, Barrett's hand shot out instinctively to steady her. His fingers closed around her elbow, and he felt her sharp intake of breath. The contact sent awareness through him like an electric current.
She pulled back quickly. "I'm fine."
Barrett dropped his hand and stepped back. His pulse sped up and it suddenly felt too warm in the room. The weight of the past hung between them, and Barrett tried to push aside thoughts of what could have been possible.
Cadie broke the silence. "I'm unclear about my aunt's concern."
Barrett sensed her worry and trepidation about what he might uncover.
He chose his next words carefully. "Your aunt left specific instructions with her attorney.
She had concerns about the circumstances surrounding her death, although she couldn't say exactly what troubled her.
I don't have any preconceived notions about what happened. I'm just here to look into it."
"And if you find something?"
"Then we'll know the truth. If I don't find anything suspicious, at least your aunt's concerns will have been addressed." He paused. "I promise I'll do my best to answer any questions about how she died or what preceded her death."
Cadie's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I appreciate that."
She looked at him then—really looked at him—and he wondered if she was thinking about what had happened between them.
At a loss, Barrett cleared his throat. "Would you like to have coffee? I could use some caffeine, and we could talk more about the investigation."
Cadie hesitated for a moment. "Coffee sounds good."
*****
After stepping outside, Cadie locked the door. Barrett suggested a coffee shop a couple of blocks away, a small local place he'd noticed. He walked beside her.
"The city has changed," Cadie said, then glanced at him. "Do you come back often?"
"This is the first time in years. What about you?"
"This is my first time back since my father's funeral." Her voice was quiet. "I haven't been to his grave since then."
Barrett wanted to reach out, to comfort her somehow, but he had forfeited that right a long time ago.
They arrived at the coffee shop, a cozy place with mismatched furniture and local art on the walls. Barrett held the door open for her, and she thanked him as she slipped past. He caught the scent of her perfume as she glided by.
At the counter, Cadie got a latte, and he got black coffee, no sugar. When the barista rang up the total, Barrett pulled out his wallet before Cadie could reach for her purse.
"I've got this," he said.
She looked like she might argue but then nodded. "Okay, I'll get the next one."
At a table by the window, Barrett sat across from her, coffee between them like a buffer. "Tell me about New Orleans and your music career."
Cadie wrapped her hands around her cup. "As I said, I play piano in a blues band," she said. "Genevieve Dumas is the lead singer, an incredible talent."
Barrett heard the passion in her voice and admired her dedication.
"We play clubs in the French Quarter, mostly," she said. "And we play some festivals and special events. The New Orleans music scene is thriving. There's all kinds of music—blues, jazz, rock, and everything mixed together."
"It sounds like you've found your place," Barrett said.
"I suppose I have." Her expression shifted. "Genevieve is the star. I'm just the piano player."
The way she said it suggested that wasn't entirely satisfying, but she didn't elaborate. Barrett filed that observation away, adding it to the growing list of things he wanted to know about her.
"I'm sure you're more than just the piano player," he said. "I heard you playing earlier. You're incredibly talented."
Cadie smiled. "I love what I do."
She asked about his work then, and he talked about the PI firm.
He mentioned a few of the cases, the security consultations, and the satisfaction of helping people find answers.
He left out the more dangerous cases, the close calls, the times when his SEAL training had been the only thing between him and serious injury.
"Do you miss the Navy?" she asked.
Barrett considered the question. "I miss the structure, the sense of purpose. But it was time to retire from the SEALs."
He didn't explain why. He didn't mention the teammates he'd lost, the survivor's guilt that haunted him, the reason he'd built walls around himself and kept everyone at arm's length. Those were things he didn't talk about with anyone, certainly not with a woman he hadn't seen in over two decades.
Cadie seemed to sense there was more he wasn't saying. She didn't push, just nodded and sipped her latte. He appreciated that she respected the boundaries, even as part of him wished she would ask.
The conversation flowed more easily after that, touching on safer topics like changes in Charleston and memories of places. Barrett avoided talking about high school, or the brief thing they'd had before he left. That topic was too dangerous, loaded with questions he wasn't ready to ask.
Barrett noticed the way she gestured with her hands when talking. "I'm surprised you're not married," he said before he could stop himself. He wanted to take them back the moment the words left his mouth.
But Cadie didn't seem offended. "I figured you were married with a bunch of kids by now."
Her tone was light, but he heard the question beneath it. She wondered why.
"No. I just…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain. He couldn't think of a way to say that he'd convinced himself love wasn't worth the risk.
Cadie helped him out. "I know how difficult the dating scene can be."
Barrett guided the conversation to safer ground. "Where are you staying?"
Cadie took a sip of her coffee. "I'm staying at the Palmetto Inn."
"That's where I'm staying," he said.
Cadie laughed, breaking the tension. "It was convenient to Stratton House."
"Same for me." Barrett realized he'd be seeing her often, and that surely wasn't a bad thing. The coffee cups were empty. He glanced at his watch, surprised that more than an hour had passed.
Barrett stood first, uncertain. He didn't want to end the time with her but wasn't sure how to extend it. "Shall I walk you back to your car?"
"That would be nice."
He fell into step beside her, retracing the route from earlier. The mood seemed lighter. Cadie asked about his rental car, and he described the sedan he'd picked up at the airport. She laughed at something he said, the sound genuine and warm.
Barrett liked the easy companionship and the way she laughed, and even the comfortable silences. At her car, he searched for the right words. "I'll need to talk to you more about your aunt, and the investigation."
"Of course. We'll need to work together on this." Cadie paused. "And maybe we could have dinner to catch up properly?"
Barrett kept his calm demeanor. "I'd like that."
"Good." She unlocked her car and opened the door, then turned back to him. "It was good to see you, Barrett." Her voice was soft, genuine.
"You too, Cadie." He meant it more than she could possibly know. "Really good."
There was more he wanted to say, but he still couldn't find the words. She seemed to understand, or maybe she felt the same way. She slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine.
Barrett stepped back and watched her pull away from the curb. He stood on the sidewalk long after her car disappeared around the corner. He pulled out his phone and looked at his notes about the investigation. He thought of Celia Ann Stratton's concerns, her request for help.
And now Cadie was at the center of it all. The woman he'd never forgotten, the one who got away.
He had a job to do, an investigation to conduct. He needed to find out what had happened to Celia Ann. That was what he'd been hired for, what he owed to a woman who had trusted him with the task.
But he also had a second chance he'd never expected. A chance to see if what he'd felt so many years earlier was just nostalgia or something real.
Cadie was back in his life, even if only temporarily. He had no idea where that would lead.