"Great to hear," Genevieve said, "because I'm already working on the setlist, and there's a spot with your name on it."
After the call, Cadie took a few minutes to finish her latte.The conversation had steadied her.Her friends and bandmates were waiting in New Orleans.It was reassuring to know she had Genevieve's support and new potential playing blues on the piano—her life's passion.
*****
Boone Properties occupied a handsome brick building.The façade was well maintained, with large windows framed by dark green shutters, and a brass plaque beside the entrance that read,Boone Properties, Historic Restoration and Preservation.The building itself looked as though it had been lovingly restored, which Cadie took as a good sign.A company that cared about its own headquarters would likely care about the buildings it acquired.
She parked on the street and stepped out into the warm morning air, then smoothed the front of her blouse and took a breath.She felt more positive than she had in days, more grounded and more certain about the direction she wanted to take.The conversation with Genevieve had reminded her of who she was and where she belonged, and the prospect of meeting with someone her aunt had trusted gave her hope that Stratton House could be placed in good hands.
Cadie walked through the front door and into a reception area that was tastefully decorated with photographs of Charleston's historic architecture.
A young woman at the reception desk looked up and smiled."Good morning," she said."May I help you?"
"I have a meeting with Jaxon Boone.My name is Cadie Ladd."
The woman checked her screen."Of course, Ms.Ladd.He's expecting you.I'll let him know you're here."
Cadie took a seat in one of the leather chairs near the window and folded her hands in her lap.Through the glass she could see the sunlit street and the old buildings lining the block, each one a piece of Charleston's history that someone had chosen to preserve rather than tear down.Her aunt had cared about that kind of legacy.Celia Ann had spent her life in this city, loving its history and the beauty of its architecture.She'd wanted Stratton House to endure long after she was gone.
Cadie intended to honor that wish.
She did not know yet what Jaxon would propose, or what the details of a sale or partnership might look like.But she had a feeling that she was in the right place.And for the first time since arriving in Charleston, the question of what to do with Stratton House felt less like a burden and more like an opportunity to do something meaningful.
Chapter 16
Barrett drove toward the Charleston Police Department with the windows down, breathing in the morning air.The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft golden light that made the old city look as though it had been painted.He passed a row of pastel houses then turned toward the steeples of two churches that rose above the rooftops like sentinels.
His thoughts should have been on the meeting with Sullivan.But he could still feel Cadie's hand and her soft lips pressed to his.
He loved Cadie.At dinner, he'd told her how he felt, and he'd meant it.But no plans had been made.For the moment, the investigation required his full attention, and Cadie was safe in the meeting at Boone Properties.
Barrett pulled into the parking lot of the police station and found a space near the entrance.He cut the engine and sat for a moment, reviewing what he knew and what he expected to learn.On the phone, Sullivan had been brief.That brevity told Barrett there was something substantial to discuss.Sullivan did not call meetings for small talk.
Barrett locked the car and walked through the front entrance.The Charleston Police Department occupied a functional building with none of the architectural charm that distinguished the rest of the city.After checking in with the desk clerk, he walked down a corridor, past an open bullpen where several detectives worked at their desks.The hum of phones and keyboards filled the space, but Barrett's attention was on the closed door at the end of the hall.
He knocked once and opened it.
Detective Mark Sullivan stood behind his desk with a file folder in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.He was a big man, six-two and broad through the chest and shoulders, with the kind of build that came from years of physical discipline rather than gym vanity.His hair was cropped close.His eyes were pale blue and his gaze direct.
Sullivan had served two tours with Barrett in the teams.They had operated together in conditions that most people wouldn't understand, and the bond that came from that experience did not require explanation.It simply existed.
"Barrett," Sullivan said, setting the coffee down.Barrett stepped inside, and Sullivan closed the door behind him.
The office was small and functional—a metal desk with a computer monitor and a phone, two chairs for visitors, and a filing cabinet against the wall.A corkboard behind the desk held case notes and departmental memos pinned in rows.On the bookshelf near the window, Barrett noticed a framed photograph of Sullivan's former unit, a group of men in desert fatigues standing in front of a dusty vehicle.
He took the chair across from the desk, and Sullivan sat down behind it.There was no small talk.Neither of them needed it.
Sullivan opened the file folder and slid a stack of printed pages across the desk."These are transcripts from the phone tap.Text messages between Kal Davis and Olivia Stewart."
Barrett looked at the pages but did not pick them up yet."How far back?"
"Seven months before Celia Ann Stratton's death, through three days after."Sullivan leaned back in his chair."They used their personal phones.Clearly, it didn't occur to them that the death of an elderly woman would be investigated."
The arrogance of that miscalculation registered with Barrett.Two people had conspired to kill a woman, and they had communicated about it on devices that could be subpoenaed with a warrant.They had assumed no one would look.They had assumed no one would care enough to ask the right questions.
They had been wrong.
"Let me take a look at these," Barrett said, then picked up the transcripts.
