“I believe Mourier,” said Barrow. “He was a well-respected journalist and he was convinced there was something very odd about Giroux’s death. In fact, it remains one of the great mysteries of the art world. After he died, the landlady took his canvases out back to the trash. Man Ray and Duchamp—who happened to be in Paris at that time—pulled some of them out of the garbage. Oddly enough, Duchamp—who was never a fan of Giroux—ended up curating and selling most of his work.”

Barrow stopped for a moment while his entrée was placed in front of him. “The exciting thing about these journals is that they really correspond to the final weeks of Giroux’s life.”

“There was much discussion a few years back about going to the Père Lachaise and exhuming his body to find out what had actually killed him,” said Gaston.

“I was hoping they’d do it,” added Barrow.

“Wait! Émile Giroux is buried in the Père Lachaise? Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?” Lara couldn’t believe she’d been right near the artist’s grave yesterday.

“I forgot,” said Gaston, shrugging, his face blushing.

Barrow shook his head. “Gaston was never much for cemeteries.”

“Couldn’t it have been something as simple as alcohol poisoning or poison from the paints he used? Pneumonia from a nasty chill?”

Both men grumbled. She wasn’t being a good sport. They were all fans of Giroux and it seemed like she was challenging them.

“Based on Cecile’s diary, I now feel sure the circus also had ties to the occult,” said Barrow. “There were even rumors that it was a gateway to Hell itself. But we found it—you found it. After all these years of searching, we actually fucking found it, Lara. Do you know what it was like? I feel like I’ve sold my soul for this damned circus, believing in my heart that there was always more to the story. I pored through every biography of anyone who had ever known or spoken to Émile Giroux or anyone—I mean anyone at all—who had gone to the circus. I even met people who claimed they’d gotten a ticket, but they were all frauds. I had nothing until Gaston called me and told me what you had in your possession. I am forever in your debt.”

Lara looked up and saw tears in Teddy Barrow’s eyes.

Chapter 20

Kerrigan Falls, Virginia

July 3, 2005

Washington Post reporter Michelle Hixson stood in front of the battered chalkboard looking perplexed.

“I’m surprised you’re working on a Sunday,” said Ben.

The reporter gave him a puzzled look. “The story is due to my editor on Tuesday morning. It’s hard to get way out here during the week.”