She laughed. “It was a man I had seen before, in childhood. He told me I needed to come to Paris; he’d have answers about what happened to Todd. There was no way that I was not going after that.”
“And it never occurred to you that this man might be some sick lunatic?”
“Oh, he’s a sick lunatic, all right, but no,” she said. “Never once, even as I sat there with Gaston and Barrow with the damned ticket in my pocket, did I consider not going.” She brought her leg up on the chair, then she laughed like she often did at Delilah’s—that full, throaty laugh. It was the first laugh he’d heard from her, and it made him realize how worried he’d been that she’d never return. “Tell me, would you not have gone? Even the ticket was magical. It bled when I tried to tear it.”
“It’s a fantastic story.” He slid his wineglass away and wondered why everyone was so convinced there was something otherworldly circling around them.
She raised her eyebrow and settled back in her seat. “So, what do you think happened to me?”
“The woman who chased you might have kidnapped you and drugged you.”
“Then what?” There was a change in Lara, a confidence he hadn’t seen before. “She just let me go?”
He had to admit, it didn’t make sense. Had someone kidnapped Lara for the painting, they’d have asked for ransom. There had been no request. He folded his arms.
There had been something that he’d been worrying about with her. Perhaps in her grief over Todd, Lara had imagined this circus, this ticket. She might have just wandered the streets of Paris this way for days. He knew her grandmother Margot had struggled with mental illness. Was it happening to Lara, too? Was this why Audrey looked so stricken?
“I’m sure there are people who wouldn’t have thought entering the Devil’s Circus was a grand idea,” said Lara, unaware of the narrative running through his mind, “but then I remembered that people had coveted those tickets for years in Paris. To the best of my knowledge, they all returned safely. I wanted answers, so I went. I stood outside the Palais Brongniart, and one minute there was nothing, then the next there was a circus. Not a tent, Ben. An entire building in another dimension. I took a Ferris wheel down past the River Styx accompanied by a monkey—who might have been a damned Benito Mussolini. The rooms were opulent. Giroux captured the way it looked. Everything has a soft focus and a sharp oversaturated color to it.” She sighed. “I know it sounds crazy; I do. It’s a form of Hell and yet it is the most magical, magnificent place I’ve ever seen.”
“You were missing for more than forty-eight hours.”
“Are you scolding me?” She was teasing. “I see they called the cavalry in. Tell me, does France not have police officers?”
“Apparently not ones who accept the idea of a Devil’s Circus.” Ben looked out in the street. “Those two were terrified.” He took her hand. “I was terrified… and angry… I was very angry with them and you.”
“You’re still angry with me.” She held his hand tightly. “It seemed like I was gone two hours at the most.” She took a sip of water and gazed out at the street. “It looks so different.”
“What does?”
“Montparnasse.”
Ben was confused. “Different from two days ago?”
She didn’t respond, tilting her body as the waiter reached over her shoulder, placing their salads with fresh burrata, tomatoes, and basil in front of them.
“So, did you get the answers you were looking for?” He stared down at his plate, trying not to let her know that the mere mention of Todd’s name earlier had his heart pounding in his chest. That she’d done all of this, put herself in harm’s way, all for answers—answers that he’d failed to give her. He’d failed, just as his father had done with Peter Beaumont.
She picked up her glass, holding it heavily in her hand like she might drop it. “He’s dead.”
“How do you—?”
“I’d like to just digest that information a bit if you don’t mind.” She gave him a sharp look that told him not to ask. She drifted away, like she was floating out to sea on a rhythmic current. “I said goodbye. There’s no point in looking for him anymore. Peter Beaumont, too.”
“What about Desmond Bennett?” He took a sip of wine and placed it back on the table. He hadn’t told her that he had a third case.
She leaned in and met his eyes. “What do you know about Desmond Bennett?” Then a knowing smile on appeared on her face. “Did you get some help from a Ouija board?”
“How did you—?” said Ben. “I was at Feed and Supply when the old Ouija board spelled out DEZ. I went and pulled the files from 1944 and guess what I found.”
“Desmond Bennett went missing in 1944. He was in love with my grandmother Margot. She’s the one who gave you that clue. Oh and yes, she’s dead and she exists in the circus.” She broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in olive oil. “But you can explain everything; there’s nothing magical going on at all.”
“I’ll admit,” he said, “I’ve seen things recently that I can’t explain.” He listened to the cars accelerate down the street, heard people laughing as they walked their dogs, caught the sound of cutlery as forks and spoons hit the table, and thought about Picasso working just a few doors down. It really did feel like a magical place here in Paris. It made him realize that he and Marla should have traveled more.
“I never subscribed to the occult version of Todd’s disappearance; you know that, but have you ever wondered why our town has zero crime?”
“I think you know that I wonder about it every day.”
“Since Margot,” said Lara, “my family has had to cast a protection spell each year—October ninth. It works except for once
