The Ladies of the Secret Circus by Constance Sayers (the little red hen ebook TXT) 📕

Ben. I can run two miles. Anyway, there was a man sweeping a courtyard. When I ran by, he saw that I was scared. He motioned for me to come into the courtyard and I hid in a railcar that was also a circus museum. Here is where it gets really crazy. This man showed me a painting of the real Cecile Cabot, not the woman from the painting that I have. This Cecile Cabot died in the 1920s here in Paris. Now I don’t know who it was who helped raise me. After that, he let me rummage through old circus memorabilia and I found something.”

“What?”

“Two more journals from Cecile. Hopefully, I’ll find out more answers there.” She was scanning them as she spoke to him, picking out sentences here and there. It was the same voice, the same writing. Checking the date, she saw that it picked up where the other book left off. She had the next volume. These books were in worse shape than the first one, so she’d definitely need Barrow’s help reconstructing some of the damaged pages. She couldn’t wait to show them to him.

“Is the dead bolt on your door?”

“It is.”

“Have you checked the closets? Do it while I’m on the phone.”

“I checked them while I was on with my mother.”

“And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, just shaken up.”

He inhaled like he was about to speak, but then hesitated.

“What?” she pressed. When he’d done this in the past, there was always a kernel of wisdom in his next comment.

“You don’t think it’s odd that you ran right into the place where you found the journals?”

“You think someone led me there?” Of course Lara realized the chances of running randomly into Le Cirque de Fragonard were slim.

“It’s exactly what I think. Where was Gaston? Why wasn’t he with you?” There was the same edge to his voice that she’d heard from Audrey.

“He was shopping for paintings today. And I’m not a child, Ben.”

“You’re not a child, but you might be in possession of a valuable painting. Maybe the woman was after that?”

It hadn’t occurred to her that it might be the painting that had spurred the woman to follow her. Barrow might have told someone about it and how much it was worth. It might be worth kidnapping Lara for. More than likely, though, it was the powerful woman she’d been warned about. There was no point in giving Ben that piece of information. He’d think she was crazy since the warning came from a circus fortune-teller. Either that, or he’d insist she get the next flight home. And she wasn’t going home just yet.

“Promise me you won’t be wandering the streets of Paris alone tomorrow.” He was silent like he was piecing something together.

“I promise no more wandering around Paris unchaperoned.” She twisted the cord of the old phone. “Anything going on back home?”

“The Washington Post is sending a reporter tomorrow to do a story on Todd’s and Peter’s disappearances. Apparently, with all the success of the Ghostly Happenings episode, there is a renewed interest in Todd’s case.”

“Oh,” said Lara, suddenly feeling the tug of Todd again. As scared as she had been running through Paris, she had felt alive again—it was an adrenaline rush. This whole mystery had given her a purpose, something she hadn’t really felt since her wedding. “That’s good, right?”

“It might open up a lead, you never know.” He sounded tired. “When are you coming home?”

“Day after tomorrow. We pushed our return flight back because the painting looks to be real. There is another expert reviewing it now.” Sadly, she wasn’t sure an article would lead to any information on Peter or Todd. If there were leads, it would come from Althacazur, not some hotline set up by the police.

“I miss you.” His comment hung in the air. She knew he was testing her, seeing what she would say.

“I miss you, too.” Hers came out in a whisper, a final breath. Through a little time and some distance, Lara realized that she missed him terribly.

There was a pause on the line. “Be careful, Lara.”

“I will.” She hated to hang up. “It was really good to hear your voice.” The ache for him, the distance was palatable now.

The mood was interrupted by a rustling noise that had Lara sitting up like a shot. She heard something slide under her door. At first, she assumed it was a bill, but after everything that had happened today she wasn’t taking any chances. She rose from the bed and saw that there was a half-inch space under the old door. Lying on the floor in front of it was a white envelope that had been pushed through the opening. Snatching it from the floor, she quickly tossed it on the bed. The envelope had been too heavy and bulky for the hotel bill.

Plucking it off the bedspread, she could feel the heaviness of the object. It was rectangular, like a—

Like a ticket.

She opened the envelope by unwinding one of those old-fashioned cords over a button. Plunging her hand deep inside, she pulled out a cream ticket with gold embossed lettering—the very invitation Mourier had gone mad trying to secure a second time. Yet here it was, on her bed, beckoning to her. The wicked ticket.

Admission pour une

(Mademoiselle Lara Barnes)

Le Cirque Secret

Trois Juillet

Vingt-trois heures

Palais Brongniart

(Rue Vivienne et Rue Réaumur)

Crouching down, she looked under the door to see if someone was still standing there. Seeing no shadow, Lara walked over to the door and looked out the peephole and found the hallway empty.

The ticket was lying flat on the center of the bed. “I’ve heard about you,” she said to it. After a few minutes, she picked it up. It felt heavy in her hand, not like any paper she’d ever touched. She tore at the end of the paper but found the parchment didn’t give. Again, she tried, and it seemed that a liquid came from the very end of it. She