Death Distilled

by Melinda Mullet

  Chapter 23

  “Trouble with boy wonder?” he asked.

  I followed Grant into the house without answering. As usual, Liam took off toward the kitchen to find Louisa.

  “Michaelson tells me Rory is one of his prime suspects now. Why is he being allowed to come here as a guest?” Grant demanded. “Summer doesn’t deserve to be put at risk like this because of that idiot of a father of hers.”

  “He’s not an idiot, and no matter what the police say, Rory’s not a killer.” The frustration in my voice was clear.

  “Are you sure?” Grant confronted me full-on, his eyes blazing with a deep green light. “Sure enough to risk the life of his daughter and all of the people who are guests in my house?”

  “I can’t prove it yet, but I know Rory is innocent.”

  “Oh for God sake. Just because you’re besotted with that bad-boy rock-and-roll persona and the come-hither looks, you can’t ignore the fact that he’s a walking time bomb.” Grant’s face looked like thunder.

  I chose to ignore the last remark. “A week ago you didn’t want any of these people in your house; now you’re worried about your guests and the darling Summer,” I countered.

  “I didn’t want any of these people in the house, but now I’ve committed to this crazy scheme of Patrick’s, I have a responsibility to the people attending.” Grant towered over me with sparks coming from his eyes. “I’ve lived here all my life. The members of the Whisky Society are respected colleagues and the people in this house and this village are like my family. You’re putting all of them at risk.”

  Just like the Fletcher boys. Responsibility for the village and the people in his care. Loyalty. Grant’s eyes flashed with a passion I hadn’t seen since he found me left to die in the hills. Now that passion was for Summer. He looked stricken at the idea that she might come to harm, but it was my own stupid fault for having thrown them together in the first place.

  “Look, this isn’t my choice of how this should play out, but whether you believe me about Rory or not, there’s someone I think is a stronger contender and he’ll be in police custody by tonight. If I’m right, there should be nothing to worry about. And if something does happen,” I rushed on, sensing Grant was about to jump in, “we’ve got private security, and Michaelson’s men and Bill will be here too. Your guests will be safe, and maybe we can bring all this to an end.”

  “I hope you’re right, but until the police are sure they have the right man, I’ll be keeping close to Summer. While she’s in my house, she’s my responsibility and I’ll be damned if I’ll let anything happen to her.”

  We stared each other down, both rooted by the fervor of our own views, not knowing how to climb down from the positions we’d staked out. Fortunately, Patrick called for Grant from the other room and he marched away in the direction of his office. I stalked off to the kitchen to see how Louisa was coping. I found her fixing tea for Gerry and Summer. Liam and Luke were sprawled on the floor sharing a cheese sandwich. Luke was eating the bread. Liam the cheese. I gratefully accepted a strong cup of tea and flopped down at the polished oak table.

  “How’s Grant doing?” Louisa asked.

  “Like a bear with a sore head.” I turned to Summer. “He hates crowds and all this fancy froufrou.”

  “He’ll be fine when he sees it all come together,” Summer said with confidence.

  “What exactly is the game plan for tomorrow?” I asked wearily.

  Summer picked up a clipboard from the chair beside her. “Patrick and the Japanese VIPs are set to arrive at the Glen at two o’clock. They’ll get a quick tour of the facilities, followed by a tasting in the new reception center and presentations from Cam and Grant. Then they’ll come to the Larches and be joined by the representatives from the Whisky Society and Patrick’s other guests.” Summer looked up from her notes. “Grant said you’d want a few minutes to talk about the Ben Logan Memorial Trust. Thought you could do that once the guests have convened in the sitting room. We’ll lay on cocktails and things on sticks, which should keep them happy while you say your piece.”

  “Sounds great,” I said limply. I’d completely forgotten that I was supposed to be resuscitating my own image as part of this whole three-ring circus. I hadn’t really pulled anything together on the trust yet. I knew what I’d be doing tonight.

  “After that we’ll show Gerry’s video and then move on to a sit-down dinner. Louisa’s even arranged for a piper to call the guests for dinner.”

  Louisa grinned and gave a slight roll of the eyes behind Summer’s back.

  “I think they’ll all be bowled over,” Summer went on. “Louisa’s put together a fabulous menu. She’s an incredible cook. I can’t promise I won’t try to convince her to come home with me.”

  My ears pricked up. “You’re planning to head back to London soon?”

  “Of course. Rory can’t keep me here forever. I’d go out of my mind. No offense. It’s beautiful and all, but it’s just so du…quiet. I mean look at you, you’re off all the time. The quiet doesn’t have time to worm its way into your head.” Summer shuddered slightly.

  I wondered if Grant knew how she felt. I turned to Gerry, who was watching Luke and Liam with a fond smile.

  “What about you? This must be pretty damn inconvenient for you too.”

  “A bit,” he admitted, “but then again, it has its perks.” He patted his stomach. “I’ve been living the bachelor life this year. Louisa here’s been spoiling me with all sorts of home-cooked goodies. I must have gained a half a stone since I started coming up.”

  “You should see the menu for the reception on Saturday evening,” Summer said with enthusiasm. “We’re bringing in all the best of Scotland with a touch of Asian flair.”

  Summer pulled out the working menu for the event and slid it across the table. “We have oatcakes and locally smoked salmon with a wasabi crème fraiche, along with shiitake mushrooms stuffed with a whisky-infused haggis for appetizers.”

  “Not sure about that one,” Gerry said with a grimace. “Haggis is a bit of an acquired taste, and not too many acquire it.”

  “Nonsense,” Louisa said briskly. “My haggis is more like a rough pâté with a port wood whisky rather than a cognac. You wait. You’ll love it.”

  “What are you doing for dinner?” I asked.

  “Sea scallops for starters, lightly poached in butter, and lemon with a seaweed salad to accompany.”

  “Where do you get seaweed salad around here?”

  “Ken Nakimoto from the village,” Summer chimed in. “Grant took me to his place for dinner the other night. He’s been such a big help. He found the seaweed for us and he translated some of the information on the Glen into Japanese for Patrick. He also donated a slew of paper lanterns to decorate with. I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”

  Was that the only reason Grant and Summer were eating at Ken Nakimoto’s? I felt stupidly relieved that it might not have been a date.

  “The main course is local venison with roasted potatoes and veg,” Louisa continued. “And for dessert I’m doing a traditional sticky toffee pudding with a black currant mochi. Cam’s been busy pairing whiskies with the whole lot, and Gerry has kindly volunteered to help with the tastings and such when he’s been here.”

  “Best assignment I’ve had in years,” he said.

  “I can’t thank you enough for doing the video,” I said.

  “Pleasure,” he replied. “Actually learned a lot about making whisky, and the equipment’s much less temperamental than the folks I usually have to work with. Just the weather that’s a challenge. I came back up on Wednesday morning, since the sun was finally out, and got some external shots. All in all, I think you’ll be pleased.”

  I made a mental note that Gerry was here on Wednesday morning filming. Shame he couldn’t have run into Rory out on the hills and given him an alibi for the time of Penrose’s death.

  “What are you up to today?” Louisa asked.

 
“I came to volunteer. What can I do?”

  “We’re finishing the decorations in the house this afternoon. And then we have to put together the gifts for the Japanese visitors.”

  “Good catch,” I said. I hadn’t even thought about that. Having spent time in Japan for work, I remembered the importance of gifts and their presentation to ongoing business relations. “What are we giving?”

  “The Whisky Society sent over some unusual whiskies for presentation.”

  “You’ll need to wrap them,” I said. “Wrapping is key. Presentation matters as much as the gift itself. Usually a fabric wrap of some kind.”

  Summer’s delicate brow furrowed. “Damn. I didn’t plan for that.”

  It felt good to have one-upped the event planner herself. “Do we have any more tartan fabric around?” I asked Louisa.

  “Think there’s some in the attic that we used for a Christmas party one year. Green and black. Would that do?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Gerry, could you give us a hand digging the boxes out?” Louisa asked.

  “Sure.” Gerry downed his tea and we followed Louisa up the kitchen stairs to the third floor that was once the servants’ quarters.

  “Back when they had servants,” she said with a smile. “They’d have been scandalized by our setup. The cook would never have lived on the main floors of the house. But Luke was only little when we moved in. Grant gave us the nursery suite,” she explained. “It was perfect. Like our own little apartment, and Luke had all of Grant and his brother’s toys to play with back when I couldn’t afford such things.”

  At the end of the hall was a door leading up a narrow wooden staircase to a massive attic that ran the length of the house. It was overflowing with a rack of old clothes and hats, saddles and riding boots, and chests full of old books and papers.

  “We’re looking for an old cedar-lined chest painted black. It should be near the Christmas stuff somewhere.”

  The three of us set to looking through the detritus of several lifetimes. Stirring up dust and memories in equal measure.

  “Could it be in here?” Gerry asked, pointing to a door in the far wall.

  “Nae, that takes you up to the roof,” Louisa said. “Used to use it when we had water tanks up there. Had to get the pigeons out when they fell in and drowned. Thank God it’s all indoor water heaters now.”

  We kept digging, Gerry clowning around with an old red lampshade on his head. He helped me move a pile of boxes aside to get into the back corner, and I retrieved a dusty trunk with brass fixtures from underneath a box of Christmas lights. “Is this it?” I asked.

  “Could be,” Louisa said, coming to look. “Yes, that’s it.” She held up a square of green and black tartan. “We used them as a base for the table centerpieces. I can give ’em a quick wash if they’ll work for you.”

  “Perfect.”

  —

  I spent the rest of the afternoon rearranging furniture at Summer’s behest before going to help set up the tables in the newly renovated stable at the Glen. The tasting room, as it was now called, looked quite professional in a rustic sort of way. The ground had been swept clean and power-washed to reveal an amazing flagstone floor. Behind a pile of hay bales, Hunter and Cam had unearthed the soot-laden remains of an open hearth that had been scrubbed to reveal natural field stones stacked one on top of another to create a surprisingly modern-feeling source of heat for the space.

  A half-dozen retired whisky barrels had been set up at the far end of the room and topped with deeply stained wood panels Hunter had repurposed from some renovations he was doing at the Larches. Individually they made nice tables, and placed end to end they were a perfect tasting bar. The photos I’d enlarged depicting the key parts of the distilling process had been framed and hung on the long wall in large Lucite frames, and the descriptive text underneath was posted in English and Japanese for the occasion. Cam was setting up tasting glasses and fussing over the choice of whiskies. He seemed slightly nervous, but when he was with the whiskies he was in his element. I didn’t worry about him for tomorrow.

  Patrick gave us all a preview of Gerry’s video. The Glen looked magical. Gerry had really captured the essence of the place. The evening was spent putting together a presentation on the Logan Trust while Patrick studied an Internet tutorial on Japanese cloth wrapping.

  And I felt somewhat more relaxed when Michaelson called to let me know that Simon Moye had arrived at the police station and was cooperating.

  Things were finally coming together. By the end of the day tomorrow, we’d be home free.

  I hoped.

  Chapter 24

  By lunchtime on Saturday I’d taken the gift bottles over to the reception center and made a final check of the Glen. The place looked gorgeous. A stout breeze stiffened the flag on the pole in the courtyard, but the sun had deigned to put in an appearance, showing the distillery to its best advantage. I took a couple of pictures from the far side of the wooden bridge that crossed the brook at the entrance to the facility. The whitewashed buildings against the lavender hills, the gleaming brass fixtures, and the miniature red roses in the half-barrel planters looked brochure-worthy.

  I stayed to greet our Japanese guests and walked through the tour with them before heading over to the Larches’. Summer was in her element playing hostess, and the Japanese men were transfixed by the young woman with the softly smoldering hair. I heard several of them ask if it was real. Her fine features and the copper-flecked hair were a perfect foil to Grant’s rugged good looks. There was no doubt they made a handsome couple, and more than one of our guests mistook them for husband and wife. I was definitely the third wheel.

  Rory was scheduled to arrive at the Larches in time to meet the rest of the guests as they arrived for the reception. Michaelson had insisted he remain inside the house during the party, and out of an abundance of caution, Bill arranged with Grant to keep all of the food served to Rory separate from the food served to the other guests. Only Louisa and I had access to it, and he knew not to eat or drink anything given to him by anyone but the two of us.

  The precautions seemed a bit much to me, especially as Simon Moye was in Stirling being questioned by Michaelson even now. As a consolation prize I brought along a bottle of the forty-year-old Fletcher’s Reserve from the cache discovered last year. It was a ridiculously expensive gift. Mickey would have downed it without even tasting it, but not Rory. He’d be able to truly appreciate it…and me. Not that I was trying to impress him. The fact that I’d changed six times before settling on a royal blue silk sheath that always turned heads came down to the changeable weather, not my vanity. At least that was my story, and I was sticking to it.

  Louisa met me in the front hall and handed me a tray of wineglasses. “Take those to the dining room and put them on the side bar.”

  I carried the tray gingerly into the dining room and found Gerry setting up the rest of the glassware.

  “I see you’ve been conscripted, too,” he said. “How’s it going at the Glen?”

  “They seem to be having a good time. Summer certainly has them enthralled. I just wanted to get over here before her father arrives.”

  “You got stuck keeping an eye on him, did you?”

  “Something like that,” I said, watching Gerry polishing one of the glasses before lining it up neatly with its companions. His eye for detail was like mine; things set out in a line were meant to be in a line. A straight line. “You here to keep an eye on Summer?”

  He flushed slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

  Gerry obviously didn’t trust Rory to do the job. “She’s lucky she has you,” I said.

  Gerry was always looking after his girls. Summer, Bonnie, and Patty, too. Could Gerry have known about Patty’s pregnancy? Could he have sent the letter to Rory to let him know the damage he’d done? If he had, it would explain a lot. Patty’s distress. My trouble reconciling Simon as the killer with the fact that he was unlikely to have known about
the baby. “Rory’s doing his best to look out for Summer. At least he only had the one child.” I watched Gerry closely but saw no trace of awareness.

  “Only one he knows of,” Gerry said philosophically. “There were a lot of possibilities during the wild days. Probably just as well he’s only just finding out what it means to be a father.”

  The more I thought about it, the more I liked the odds on Gerry as the letter writer. Patty could well have told Stella, and Stella could have told her husband. Gerry was principled and had a strong sense of responsibility. He would’ve thought Rory should know.

  “I believe Rory’s trying to be a good father,” I said.

  “It’s not easy,” Gerry observed. “When they’re little, you try to shelter them from every little bump and bruise. When they get old enough, you finally breathe a sigh of relief that you’ve got them grown without any major injuries, but even then you’re not out of the woods. They’re actually more vulnerable in some ways when they get older. The stakes are higher. Parenting’s no job for the weak.”

  Louisa came bustling in with more whisky for serving with the food. She looked a bit harried, and I trailed around behind her, helping where I could.

  “It was sweet of you to invite Gerry.”

  “He’s been so much help it’d have been rude not to. Besides, I think it’s good for him to stay busy. He’s had a lot of grief in his life. Losing his daughter to the drugs, and then Bonnie and his wife to cancer. He’s worn down with it all, poor soul. Now trying to keep an eye on Summer. It’s a lot to cope with.”

  Having lost the ladies in his life one by one, no wonder he was so intent on watching out for Summer. She and Patty were all he had left.

  I helped Louisa with the final touches in the sitting room and set my computer up next to Gerry’s. He’d be able to run a few quick slides on the Logan Trust for me. I looked up and saw him entering the room, dragging Liam along by the collar.

  “Found him with his nose in a whisky glass someone left on the hearth. ’Fraid he’d finished it before I got to him.” Gerry peered into his eyes, looking concerned. “Should we call the vet?”