“People are taking photos, and nothing remains a secret anymore with social media. My colleagues would not be amused.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“That’s what paranoids always say,” Tariq said, looking around the restaurant as Joel nattered on. “Besides, don’t you refuse to engage with social media?”
“The moment those social platforms are run by smart women who give away most of their ill-gotten gains for fear of being damned to hell, as exceedingly rich people have done throughout the millennia, I’ll create a social media account. I may even participate.”
Tariq let out a loud bark of a laugh.
Joel halted his spiel and, eyebrows raised, stared pointedly at the pair of them.
“Sorry,” Tariq murmured.
“Is everything all right?” Joel asked.
“Quite,” Harper replied with a fake smile, though “everything” was decidedly not all right. From what she’d heard so far, Joel had chosen his ghostly tales from the silliest, most credulous popular books and websites. She should know; she was familiar with them. She wasDoctorHarper Grae, a professor of history specializing in the folklore of ghosts, witchcraft, and all manner of undead. She had worked hard to complete her degree and establish an academic career. It had cost her one job, her marriage, and the opportunity to have children and a home. But it was worth it because history wasn’t trivial.
Historymattered.
“Ready, ghost hunters? Let’s go!” Joel said, bouncing upand down a few times before leading the group out of the restaurant and down the historic Fisherman’s Wharf toward the oldest part of town, where several two-story adobe structures held pride of place around a public plaza.
“Here we have the Old Custom House, which is the oldest surviving government building in California, erected in 1827 by the Spanish,” said Joel.
“Probably it was built by the indigenous people, forced to work for the Spaniards, right?” asked the teenage girl.
“I, um, well, I’m not exactly sure. What Idoknow is that it is said to be haunted by the victims of two gruesome murders: a man and a boy who were killed while guarding the secret location of buried gold. Here in Monterey, Indians and explorers, priests and pirates, foreigners, farmers, and fishermen…” Joel intoned. He apparently deemed the phrase worthy of repetition and said again, “Yes, Indians and explorers, priests and pirates, foreigners, farmers, and fishermen…”
“…and a partridge in a pear tree,” Harper muttered.
“Each left their immutable imprint on our little town, be it for good or…forevil.” Like all good showmen, Joel made a point of pausing to make eye contact with each member of the tour. “Intrigues, swindles, secret affairs, hangings, and shipwrecks…this town has seen them all and then some! Shall we then be surprised that we are home to so many restless spirits?”
“I don’t know. Shall we?” Harper grumbled under her breath, trailing the tour group as it shuffled past a modern conference center and hotel.
“You promised to be good,” whispered Tariq with a low chuckle.
“I promised no such thing. Only that I wouldgoon this ridiculous ghost tour with you. A bet’s a bet.”
“Don’t gamble if you can’t afford to lose,” Tariq said sagely, smiling at Harper’s glare. “Why are you in such a mood lately?”
“What was it that Cate Blanchett said? ‘Never pick a fight with a woman older than forty. They’re full of rage and sick of everyone’s shit.’ Something along those lines.”
“You just turned forty yesterday.”
“I’ve always been precocious.”
“Is there a problem back there?” Joel stared pointedly at Harper and Tariq like a teacher admonishing mischievous second graders on a field trip. The group had halted in front of a large Victorian building fronted with bay windows: the historic Monterey Hotel.
“Not at all,” said Tariq, flashing his bright white, slightly crooked smile. It had won him forgiveness on more than one occasion, including having shown up late to meet Harper.
“Our apologies,” Harper said to Joel. “Please, carry on. You were discussing the spirit that lives in the Monterey Hotel? Fred, is it?”
“Yes. Fred was a carpenter and for years worked for the hotel. He died long ago, but to this day he has been seen fixing the main staircase. To say thank you, the hotel staff keep an altar to him in the basement, well supplied with chocolate and cigarettes, coins, and the occasional bottle of fine Kentucky bourbon.” Joel winked and bounced a couple of times. “I’ve half a mind to fix those stairs myself!”
A few chuckles rippled through the tour group, and Joel preened. Bounce, bounce.
The tall, beefy man raised his hand and growled, “Is it true that ghosts are more likely to appear in cases of violent death?”
