“I’m a bit of a historian, myself,” said Joel. “As you know.”
“Yeah, I have a question about that: Where did you get the story about witch trials taking place here in Monterey? I can’t find any trace of them.”
“Not everything is written down. I should think you’d know that, Professor.”
“That’s certainly true. But witch trials were a big deal, and court records were usually kept,” she replied. “Can you at least tell me what year it occurred?”
Joel shrugged and looked about the room. “As the wise transcendentalist philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, ‘All history becomes subjective; there is properly no history; only biography.’ ”
“He didn’t mean there was no such thing as historical facts. He was emphasizing the centrality of humans and human actions in history. And it’s true that written history reflects the philosophy and psychology and world view of the historian.”
Joel stopped wandering and stared at her. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“No, it isn’t. Joel, you can’t go around making up something like a history of witch trials.”
“I beg to differ. Apparently, I can.” He took a deep quaff from his bright orange water bottle.
“You’re also not supposed to have liquids in here, Joel.”
“Such a stickler for the rules, you are,” he said with a smile. The humor did not reach his eyes.
“So, just to be clear: No actual evidence exists for these alleged witch hangings?”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “The Perles family was known to be ruthless. They took land that did not belong to them, and then forced impoverished workers to build their mansion for slave wages. It is said that the locals cursed them for it.”
“That isn’t a good enough story for a ghost tour?”
“Class warfare is a drag. People love the witch thing. You ever see what a tourist mecca Salem, Massachusetts, has become?”
“But Salem was the site of actual, documented witch trials.” Harper taught this sort of thing and knew the numbers well. “Nineteen people were hanged, one died of torture, and five died due to the appalling conditions of their incarceration.”
Joel ignored her, tilting his head, as if studying the labels on the boxes of documents on a nearby shelf. Harper supposed he had a point: If people enjoyed getting spooked on a ghost tour, what was the harm? Still, the trivialization of history, and of a societal trauma like the witch hunts, stuck in her craw.
“You mentioned that most of the Perles family died,” Harper said.
He nodded. “All save the brother and sister, Soren and Isabel.”
“Hence the curse?”
“Hence the curse.” He began to bounce again, this time swaying slightly on his feet. “Maybe the curse afflicted Delilah, too.”
“Did you know her well?” Harper asked.
“Oh, we’ve been…” Again he paused, as though searching for the right words. “We’ve been ‘associates’ for many years. In some ways, I dare say I knew her better than anyone.”
“In what ways?”
Joel took a seat beside Harper and leaned in uncomfortably close. Harper leaned back.
“I knew her secret,” he whispered.
“Which was?”
He shook his head. “I’ve kept it to myself all these years while she was alive; I won’t make it public now. Never let it be said that I’m not a gentleman.”
“That’s commendable, I guess. You mentioned that Delilah allowed you access to her garden.”
“And now, no more,” he said, his tone bleak. He let out a long sigh. “Poor Delilah. And poor me. We were on the cusp of going into business together, you know. That’s kaput now, too.”
