Highland Dew Page 11

  Might just as well check. She grabbed her woollen jacket from the peg by the door and walked across the yard to the office. The morning sun glinted off the damp leaves and cobblestones. The sweet smell of apple blossoms filled the air.

  The nearest large tree still held the tire swing her dad hung for her as a child. Happy memories from those early days often brought her comfort while she was at school in Edinburgh. Today all she could think about was the mind-boggling mess that lay before her.

  The office door creaked open. Not locked. She shook her head and looked at the cluttered desk covered with papers. The rest of the office wasn’t any better. Boxes and sample bottles filled one corner. A muddy path through the rubble led to the entryway of the distillery. She wanted to scream.

  Instead, she sat down and pushed piles of paper back to find the blotter. Under it were several pieces of paper with prices, addresses, business contacts, and phone numbers. She pulled all of them together. “Well, it’s a start.”

  Bascomb was on one sheet with a number. She dialed it from the desk phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this David?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Hello, David. This is Fiona MacDougall. Do you have a minute?”

  “Hi, Fiona. Of course. What’s up?”

  She described the current state of the business and asked for his input. “David, I could really use your help.”

  “I’m sure sorry things have got so bad. I always liked your dad, but he got sort of…unpredictable. He’d change my schedule every time I came in. Then he’d forget to do payroll. Well, I needed a steady income, ya know.”

  “I understand. I just don’t know who else to ask.”

  “There are two projects I need to finish for a local business. That shouldn’t take more than a few days. I’m setting up a new system for them.”

  “Any help will be appreciated. Would you call me when you can?”

  “Sure. There’s one thing…”

  “You’ll be paid, I promise.”

  ****

  The sunlight reflecting off the river didn’t erase the cobwebs. Bryce slept fitfully and did not feel rested. Nor had she come up with any solutions for herself, or for Fiona. In fact, the situation with MacDougall Distillers was even more tenuous.

  The fragrant tea helped a little. But she needed to make some decisions soon. She picked up her phone and it suddenly rang, startling her. Leo? No, it was Reggie.

  “Hi, Reg. What’s up?”

  “Hi. I finished with my list and planned to head over your way. I thought we could get all the samples and reports boxed up.”

  What should I tell her? And how much? “That sounds good. I may have to run down to Glasgow to check in with Ian. I’m not sure when.”

  “How come? Is there a problem?” Her voice quavered with worry.

  “No problem. In fact, maybe good news. I had a serendipitous discovery at the MacDougall place. Turns out there may still be some magical whisky ready to be signed.”

  “No kidding! You mean the mystery stuff you thought was unavailable?”

  “The very same. They produced the Highland Dew until they closed up, but there are still some barrels that were forgotten.” Bryce thought that was enough for now. She didn’t want to share Leo’s news until she knew more.

  “That would be huge. Have they agreed to sell?”

  “Not yet. His daughter, Fiona, has to make the decision. Her dad is no longer able. I’ll tell you more when I see you. I have to make some calls.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll leave tomorrow. Could you get me a room?”

  “Sure. Drive carefully.” Bryce hung up. Hearing Reggie’s enthusiasm reassured her a little. Maybe it would work out. But, before she approached Fiona, she needed a solid plan to bottle, distribute, and hopefully reopen the distillery. Ian could help.

  An idea struck and she jumped up and got dressed. Breakfast and Billy.

  She hurried downstairs with her notebook, stopped at the desk to make Reggie’s reservation, and walked into the lounge area.

  “Good morning,” Billy said.

  “Good morning. Can I still get some breakfast?” She pulled out the barstool on the end.

  “Oh, I think we can manage that.” His grin lit up his rugged face. “Care for some tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee, I think, and some oatmeal.”

  He brought a mug and a small carafe of coffee with additional cream and sugar.

  “I haven’t seen much of you. Are you finding what you’re looking for?”

  “You know I’ve been pleased with the places I’ve visited.” She opened her notebook. “Mind I ask about some names?”

  He grabbed his own coffee mug. “I’d like to know who’s selling new whisky. Might be worth a call.”

  “My first stop was outside Stirling, the Braehead Distillery. The man’s name was Dusty Hamilton. Ever hear of Braehead?”

  He squinted out the window. “I don’t recognize the name. Is it new?”

  “He told me he started after the war, but it’s a pretty small operation.” She added cream and brown sugar to the steaming porridge he set in front of her. “This smells wonderful.” Steel-cut oats cooked to perfection.

  “Enjoy. I need to run down to the cellar.”

  Bryce looked over her notes as she ate. Braehead, Townsend & McClure, Duff’s Whisky, MacDougall & Son…Her throat tightened. She sipped her coffee and relaxed her shoulders.

  How could she make this work?

  ****

  Fiona gripped the pen tighter. “Okay, Murray. I understand the confusion, but try to remember just when everything went off the rails.”

  Murray shuffled back and forth by the door. “It’s all fuzzy, you know. When the missus got so sick, everything slowed down.”

  “Can you at least tell me what my dad meant about the whisky barrels still in the cask room? He told me he saved that for a Distiller’s Edition.” She tapped the end of the pen against the desk.

  “Oh ya, I remember something about that…but then he changed his mind and wanted to add another batch. I think.”

  “Did you know there are one hundred and thirty barrels sitting in the cask room?” She shouted.

  He looked startled and quickly hung his head. “I forgot. After your mum died, I had to do everything. You weren’t here and nobody wanted to stay without getting paid. If you think you know better, do it.” He yanked the door open and stomped out, slamming it hard.

  She clenched her fists and pounded the desk. “Dammit to hell!” The inbox tipped over, spilling unopened bills across the desk.

  “I can’t do this!” She swept her arm across the desk sending everything flying to the floor, and began to sob.

  When there were no more tears, she got up and walked into the empty heart of the distillery where the ancient copper stills reflected a modest amount of light through small skylights. All was quiet. She had never been in here when there wasn’t commotion, talking, and laughter. For over a hundred and fifty years, this family had produced whisky. Workers had come and gone, but there was always a MacDougall at the helm, including two of the first MacDougall women. Her great-great-grandmother had kept the process going when others were failing.

  She touched the copper still and closed her eyes. It was cold. She couldn’t remember a time when the pot stills weren’t in use. Old Timmy. He was a well-known local character her dad hired once in a while to come and polish the copper. It took him a long time, but they glistened when he was done.

  Fiona continued through the various rooms holding the mash tun, the grinding area, drying room, and then outside. In spite of neglect, the equipment seemed to be in good condition—so were the buildings. The credit belonged to Murray.

  What would it take to get everything going, and how much would it cost?

  ****

  Bryce refolded the map on the bar and pointed to a spot near Glenrinnes. “This is where the Townsend & McClure Distillery is located. It’s quite new and
very modern.” She laughed. “Brian Townsend is a real character, but very serious about his whisky. It’s quite good, actually.”

  Billy jotted down the name. “I’ll remember in case he pops in.”

  “This one is really interesting. Kurt Morgan and his wife are American. They started experimenting twenty years ago in Minnesota after a trip to Scotland.”

  “Minnesota?”

  “One of the northern states between Wisconsin and North Dakota.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Anyway, when the kids were grown, they came back to Scotland to try to have a go of making whisky. They’ve really worked hard. With some help from a group of locals, they formed a co-op.”

  “I should get out more.” Billy laughed.

  “They’ll have some good stuff in a few years. Meanwhile, we’ll try to help.”

  “Excuse me.”

  Billy walked over to an older couple just sitting down at the bar. He poured two beers and served them.

  She folded her map and debated the wisdom of discussing Fiona and the lost treasure.

  “Any other prospects?”

  “Reggie has lined up a few and…can I confide in you?”

  “That’s what bartenders are famous for—tight lips.”

  “Remember how interested I was in the Highland Dew?”

  “Sure, both you and your friend.”

  “Well, quite by accident I stumbled in to what I thought was an abandoned farm a while ago. Turns out it wasn’t completely empty, and I spoke to the owner’s daughter. They recently shut down the distillery because of his illness.” She took a swallow of water.

  Billy watched her.

  “Long story, but I went over when no one was around and stumbled into a cask room in an empty warehouse. The barrels were stamped with Highland Dew.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Somehow they had been overlooked, and now the daughter is trying to decide what to do.”

  “Well, I’ll be. That’s kind of a coincidence isn’t it?” He shook his head. “That would be great if they got back to making whisky. It’s very popular around here.”

  “So can I ask a favor?”

  He raised one eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

  “Do you have any more of it in stock?”

  “I’m not sure, but I can check. What are you looking for?”

  “To help me put together a marketing plan, I’ll need something for the District manager to taste. I’ll be happy to pay you.”

  He rubbed his chin and stood there. Finally, he said, “Let me go see.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thanks.”

  If she had something for Ian to taste, she was sure he would agree with her idea. It was a risk, but it was a win-win for everyone. If only she could call Fiona and tell her…but not yet. It wasn’t worth the risk if the plan did not get approved.

  After what seemed like forever, Billy returned with two bottles. “If you hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t have looked in the back of the storeroom. We’ve got a couple more.”

  He set one in front of her. “Put it on your tab?” He winked

  “You’re a prince.” She folded her napkin. “I believe I’ll be spending some time in Glasgow. I probably won’t get back until tomorrow. Thanks, Billy.”

  After she packed a small bag and wrote a note to Reggie, Bryce hurried out to her car. Now that she had something to show Ian, as well as the approval and backing from Leo, it was time for a plan.

  It was past nine when Bryce pulled out on the A95. Midweek traffic permitting, she’d be in Airdrie by one o’clock.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reggie Ballard took her time over breakfast. She’d decided to stay in Inverness for the night, and since she was in no hurry, she decided she’d drive the northern road along the coast to Craigellachie.

  “More coffee?”

  “Thanks.” Reggie smiled at the young woman who must still be in high school. The notes in her folio outlined miniature marketing suggestions for each brand she’d selected. Why waste time waiting for approval? Her business sense was every bit as good as Bryce’s, and she had far more enthusiasm for the project. In fact, she might just send the samples off first. And what was up with Bryce? Enthusiasm, hell. She could hardly muster a smile.

  The sweet, hot coffee tasted good, and she leaned back to look around at the other diners. Some were clearly tourists by their conversations and guide books. A few local men read newspapers while they drank their tea. One man in particular reminded her of their former employee, Malcolm Harris. Had Bryce connected with him? She couldn’t remember, but thought he’d be interesting to talk to.

  Her list of contacts didn’t include his number. She punched Bryce’s speed dial. Voicemail. “Hey, Bry. Could you text me Malcolm’s phone number? I may try to meet him for lunch. Thanks.”

  The original plot she had recently hatched now germinated without much help.

  Reggie waved at the waitress and pulled a couple of Scottish pounds from her coin purse.

  A few miles east of Inverness, she saw the sign for the National Trust for Scotland site for Culloden battlefield. She had visited the site on her second trip. The desolate moor was, again, shrouded with fog and the wind whistled just as it might have almost three hundred years ago when so many gave their lives in their quest for freedom.

  Her phone beeped with a text. Malcolm’s number. Reggie smiled and steered into the site’s parking lot. Once parked, she called the number.

  “This is Malcolm.” The voice was familiar. Very.

  “Hi there. It’s your long-lost friend from Georgia.”

  There was a long pause. “Reggie?”

  “The one and only. I’m on my way to meet up with Bryce in Craigellachie and wondered if you had plans for dinner?”

  “I think that would work. Let me—”

  She heard pages flipping and shook her head.

  “Good, the meeting is tomorrow. What time and where?” He sounded cheery.

  “I’ll be at the same place as Bryce, the Highlander Inn. Say, six?”

  “Perfect. I can’t wait to see you.”

  I’ll bet you can’t, you old fox.

  She steered out to the highway and smiled as she remembered the last trip. Leo arranged for them to gather for a big meeting in Edinburgh. He had chosen a weekend when almost all the employees could be present. It was to unveil a new product, distribute new policies, and hand out awards.

  The fog obscured some of the highway and she slowed.

  Malcolm Harris had bought her drinks until the bar closed and then suggested a nightcap in his room. He was a little too drunk for anything to happen, but seemed satisfied with some harmless titillation.

  They corresponded for a while, but his guilt sent him back to his happy marriage. One of several times, she reminded herself, to watch her drinking.

  The sign ahead indicated a roundabout and the A941 south to Craigellachie. The afternoon plan was a quick nap, a shower, and hopefully, a chat with Billy, the knowledgeable bartender.

  ****

  Bryce opened the windows in her car. The Vauxhall felt more familiar and comfortable to drive. She smiled. “And no more curb injuries.” The air smelled of young buds and turned fields. Young and hopeful. Bryce loved spring.

  Ahead, a sign indicated a side road leading to the town Dalwhinnie, home of the famed whisky, which she also liked. Sad, she didn’t visit the distillery earlier. After signaling her turn, she waited for one car, then pulled right into the turn lane. The highway slid between the wooded hillside with railway tracks and the River Truim.

  The only sound came from the river surging along the rocks. The hillsides thickened with forests. Bryce slowed and felt her lungs swell with the fresh scents. Why had she spent so much of her life in big cities racing from one job to the next? Forty years nearly passed her by, and what did she have? Tears blurred her eyes. “What am I doing?”

  An odd sadness washed over her, a
nd she gave in to it.

  The tiny hamlet flashed by. Ahead lay a splendid sight. Bright white buildings spread wide with peaked roofs and twin copper towers with their greenish tint high above. A distinctive distillery. She knew it was a big operation, but wow. Very tempting, but she had an appointment, so she turned around in the parking lot and paused a moment to look at it.

  MacDougall & Son Distillers of Fine Whisky. The comparison unavoidable. Fiona’s small family operation would never achieve this kind of standing in the global arena of premium whisky. Did she even want that? Bryce felt certain the urgency of debt would drive Fiona to just sell the whisky on hand.

  But her gut told her this Highland Dew might be something very special and worth investment.

  If only Ian would go along with her idea. She had samples and a tentative proposal to either bottle and distribute the existing stock, or advance money to cover start-up of the business and share the profits with Fiona and her dad. She patted the leather bag on the seat next to her. The spreadsheets contained columns of figures for each scenario. Most important, she had a bottle of the product.

  Her phone rang.

  Glad she’d thought to finally pair her phone to the car system, she hit the button on the steering column. “Hello?”

  “Bryce, it’s Leo.”

  “How are you? God, I’ve been so worried.” Her throat tightened.

  She heard the familiar chuckle. “I knew you’d worry. That’s why I’m calling, so listen. If they catch me with this phone there’ll be trouble.” He coughed. “I had a bit of a stroke. It’s not bad, but I have a fair amount of weakness on my left side…and I drool.”

  Bryce laughed with relief. He still had his sense of humor. “Okay.”

  “I can’t go back to the office until I’m more mobile. Might be a little while. I hope you got my message. I want to know how the project is going. Have you two found anything?”

  “Yes, we have. Reggie and I each have samples and reports that we’ll send off from Glasgow. I’m on my way there to meet with Ian.” Did she want to tell him her plan? Probably not yet, not until they had something solid.