Made it to DC! Unfortunately, after traveling all day (…and losing three hours…), I’m just wiped out. So, we’re keeping it short again today. And, for the record, there’s only one bed in this room…

When I travel for work, I really don’t care whether the room has a queen bed, or two doubles – it’s just me in the room, so if there’s a second bed there then it’s likely just a place for my suitcase to go. So when I checked into the Grandwell Capitol Gateway it was after ten at night. By the time I got to my room, I didn’t think about the fact that there were two double beds. It was late already and I opened my suitcase on the couch to get my sleep clothes and then just crashed in the left bed.

When my alarm went off the next morning, I noticed the covers were pulled back on the second bed. I frowned wondering whether the housekeeping services had cut corners on making that second bed… but I would have sworn both beds were made exactly the same.

I got back to my room late after we had a work networking dinner with clients and was pleased to see both beds were made exactly the same. The next morning, though, not only were the covers pulled back, but they looked rumpled – just as rumpled as my own slept-in bed. I went directly to the front door and inspected the deadlock and privacy lock – both locked from within. I stared at the unkempt bed with a frown and fought the urge to think there was something supernatural going on – but how do you explain it?

Another conference day, another networking mixer. Just like the previous day, housekeeping had made both beds perfectly. This time I put a piece of tape across the inside of the door after engaging the deadbolt and privacy lock. I even went so far as to put my closed checked luggage on the bed.

I wasn’t exactly smiling when I climbed into my bed, but I was at least secure in the knowledge that no one would get in or get into that bed without alerting me.

So, when I awoke just after three in the morning, I chalked it up to the noisy air conditioner coming on.

And then I felt the covers on the far side of my bed slowly get pulled back and felt weight on the mattress.

Keeping it short today again because I still have to pack for a 9am flight to DC tomorrow…

“Dale, where are we on the Hoffman project?” the message popped up on our work Jabber chat from my boss.

“Shit,” I said aloud. I was not, in fact, working on the Hoffman project at that moment. No, I was multi-tasking between the Universal installation and the new TelSys configuration – that and about a dozen other things that kept bubbling to the surface. The Hoffman project was last week’s supernova.

I pulled up the most recent email thread – okay, I was waiting on Taylor to get me the schematic. I replied to the message asking, “Hey, Taylor – do you know what’s up with the schematic? When can we expect it?” I hit send and switched back to Jabber where I started typing, “Still working on it: waiting on the — ” a ding indicated a new email. I switched back to my email and my blood ran cold.

On its face, it was an innocuous Out of Office message from Taylor. “Thank you for your email. I’m currently out of the office and will be back at my desk on October 5^th. If you need immediate help, please don’t hesitate to reach out to anyone in our Sales team at 707-555-1212. Thank you, Taylor O’Reilly.”

However, today is October 9^th and Taylor isn’t at his desk.

Taylor was killed in a plane crash returning home on Saturday, October 3^rd.

Of course, I knew he was… gone. The shock of losing Taylor was still palpable through the office. Everyone loved Taylor – he’d been with the company for ten years and was practically an institution… I guess the fact that I forgot he wasn’t with us and just fired off that email on muscle memory says something about Taylor – everyone could count on him.

Except when you couldn’t because he was gone.

“Goddamn it,” I said and rubbed my eyes. I looked at the clock – it was after six.

Deleting the Jabber message I’d started I wrote, “I was working on that with Taylor. I’ll see where we left off Monday morning.” Sent.

A moment later, “Sounds good. Taylor is missed. Thanks, Dale.”

I was done. That Out of Office was a gut punch I didn’t expect. I let out a long sigh and locked my computer and stood up to gather my things to go home. I felt a buzz in my pocket – an incoming email on my work phone. I reflexively opened the message and moved to sit back down in case I needed to unlock the computer to deal with whatever it was. My eyes scanned the email header and I fell hard to my seat.

“Hey Dale, sorry I’m late on the schematic – the latest is attached. The source files are on my PC – Eliot should be able to get you access if you need it. It was great working with you. You all will be fine. Sincerely, Taylor.”

How about a little palette cleanser after last night’s bloodbath? And, you know what? I think this might be the latest into October that we’ve gone before actually seeing a ghost in one of these stories… In any event, let’s just hope our mischievous ghost here doesn’t mess with the actual baking going on…

Jesse scanned the ingredient list of the molasses cake recipe. He had the dry ingredients whisked together in a bowl while he reconstituted the raisins with rum and hot water in a separate, smaller bowl.

“In a separate bowl…” he read aloud quietly, “…whisk together molasses, sugar and melted butter… Okay…” he looked over his mise en place scattered around the kitchen table and shook his head. “Molasses… how could I forget that in a molasses cake?”

He opened the pantry cabinet door and took in the contents.

From behind him, the female ghost smiled, “You’re never going to find it…”

Jesse scowled. “It was right here – I remember… that’s why I was going to make this cake in the first place… Where did it go… He reached in and pushed jars of spices and extracts around, looking for the signature yellow Grandma’s Original glass jar.

Behind him, the ghost giggled.

Jesse had both arms in the cabinet now, digging all the way to the back to no avail. He retreated for a moment and pulled the flashlight out of the junk drawer, partially surprised the batteries still worked as he shone the beam into the cabinet, the various bottles casting odd shadows as he looked for the jar.

After searching for ten minutes, he stepped back and scowled at the open and disheveled cabinet.

“Honey?!” he yelled without taking his eyes off the cabinet.

“Yeah?” Joanne called back from the family room.

“Did you use the molasses?” he shouted back.

“Molasses?” she replied in a questioning tone. “No… why?”

“I’m looking for it.”

Jesse could hear the scoff from the other room.

“Seriously, have you seen it?”

“Yeah,” she called back. “It’s in the pantry cabinet. Just to the left of the stove. Probably…umm… middle shelf.”

Jesse eyed the middle shelf. “Yeah… not there.”

“Did you even look?” The reply came from the next room.

“Yes, I looked!” Jesse said with annoyance in his voice.

“Really looked? Or did you Man-look?”

Jesse bit down on his frustrated retort, waited a moment and replied slowly, “Yes, I look-looked, not man-looked. It’s not here.”

“To be fair,” the ghost nodded behind him, “he did look…” No one could hear her or her tinkling little laugh.

“I’m going to come in there and find it.” Joanne paused, “Are you okay with that?”

“Joanne, I looked, okay? It’s not there. I would appreciate you confirming that before I run to the store…”

He could hear her set her iPad on the coffee table and walk towards the kitchen.

When she came in she looked at the mixing bowl and scattered ingredients. “What are you making?” she asked.

“Molasses cake,” he replied.

“Ooh, yum,” she smiled at him. “That sounds delish! Where’d you get the recipe?”

Jesse pointed to the open laptop on the counter. “I’m starting with the NY Times recipe, but making some modifications…”

As he explained his rationale for swapping rum for the hot water for reconstituting the raisins and the appeal of freshly cracked black pepper, the ghost stepped up to the cabinet and moved around a few items, and pulled the jar of molasses to the front of the cabinet. She peered over her shoulder to see both Jesse and Joanne were engaged in the recipe discussion and she quietly closed the cabinet.

“Do you think splitting the granulated sugar for partial brown sugar will work?” Jesse asked.

Joanne frowned in concentration before answering, “With the rum raisins and the spices already doing so much, I’d keep it all white sugar this time.”

Jesse nodded thoughtfully. “Okay… and the molasses?”

Both turned their attention to the cabinet. Jesse raised an eyebrow at the now-closed cabinet as Joanne moved to open it. Right there, front and center of the middle shelf, she took hold of the yellow glass jar and turned to Jesse. “Male-pattern blindness,” she said nonchalantly.

“No, that wasn’t… it wasn’t… no…” Jesse sputtered as the ghost covered her mouth with her hands and laughed uproariously.

“It’s okay,” Joanne said, setting the molasses down on the kitchen table as she continued back to the living room, “You couldn’t see past your Y chromosome…”