Highland Dew

by Jeanne Magill

  “This must’ve been the storeroom.”

  Scurrying feet startled her and she almost ran, but her flashlight strobed across the stencil on the nearest barrel.

  MacDougall & Son #1892 Highland Dew 1998

  She rubbed the cobwebs and dust off the surface of the cask and gasped. And read it again. Highland Dew…isn’t that the same…? The rest of the room was dim and shadowy. Her flashlight barely penetrated the darkness.

  She backed toward the door, pulled it closed, and ran up the ramp. After ducking under the heavy door, she stopped to catch her breath. No one around, mercifully, so she wouldn’t be prosecuted. But if that was really…

  Where was Fiona? She had to talk to her. The back door might be open, and she trotted toward the house.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?” Bryce knocked louder.

  The wind rattled the door on the loading dock and she spun around. No one there.

  “I wished I had asked for the home phone number.”

  The phone.

  She pulled out her cell and asked, “What’s the phone number for MacDougall & Son distillers?”

  The waiting logo circled around and around.

  “That information is not available.”

  Bryce took a deep breath. “Crap. Okay, I’ll leave a note.” She scribbled her request on the back of her business card and stuck it in the door. The wind whistled through the trees and scattered more of the fragrant petals.

  “This is unreal.” She looked around again. Was this really the distillery that she’d been looking for? Billy! She needed to talk to him. She started the car and sped down the driveway.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hi, Bryce. It’s Reggie. Are you busy?”

  She hit the Bluetooth. “Hey, Reggie, glad you called. I’m just heading back to the hotel, but have I got news.”

  “Must be good. You never talk this fast.”

  “Very funny. Yes, it might be great news. Remember when we did the tasting?”

  “Sure.”

  Bryce checked her speed and slowed down. “There were two samples we both really liked and one of them was no longer being produced. Remember?”

  “I’ve tasted so many…wait, the apple flavor?”

  “Exactly. Well, I just stopped in at the old distillery I found the other day. The one I thought was abandoned.”

  “The one with a pretty teacher?”

  Had she really said that? “Yes, but no one was there. I snooped around and found a storeroom in the creepy old building. Inside I found a barrel with that name—Highland Dew.”

  “One barrel?”

  She flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t know. I freaked out and ran out of the building. No one was there so I had to leave a note.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not sure one barrel is proof of anything. Maybe your bartender friend might be able to shed some light. But listen, you remember the two guys I was trying to get to up near Dalmore?”

  Bryce shook her head. Why was Reggie changing the subject? This could be a huge find. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Well, I had dinner with Joe last night and he signed the Request for Representation. I called Leo and he’s thrilled.”

  Had dinner? “Why… Never mind, that’s great. What do you have planned now?”

  There was a long pause. “Um… I’m not sure. I have a couple of ideas. Let me know what the bartender says. Gotta go.”

  The conversation felt off. Reggie had never been so vague or cagey. Hopefully Leo would tell her if he suspected a problem. But, she might be right—getting excited about the printing on one barrel was hardly earth-shattering evidence. Her buoyant mood withered like a birthday balloon. She’d still talk to Billy, but first, it would be a hot meal and a hot bath.

  The bar area at the inn was nearly empty except for an older couple enjoying tea. There was a new face tending bar. An attractive young woman in her late twenties maybe.

  “Good afternoon, my name is Ann. What can I offer you?”

  Bryce scanned the immense whisky selection. “I think I’d like the Glenfiddich nineteen-year-old ‘Age of Discovery,’ neat. I’d also like a menu, Thanks.”

  The warm whisky opened as she savored the first swallow. “That’s nice. Wish they exported this bottling to the States.” She smiled.

  “Oh, they will some day. Have you decided on something to eat?”

  Her bright blue eyes and curly hair made her appear younger.

  “I think I’ll try the venison burger. Bet that’s less expensive.”

  “Good choice.” Ann set off for the kitchen.

  Bryce checked her phone for the hundredth time. No messages. She needed to finish the notes from yesterday, but didn’t feel like it. On impulse she typed in her mom’s email address.

  Hi Mom, I’m enjoying Scotland more than ever. We’ve had a successful trip and contacted some interesting local distillers who’re promising. We’ll probably wrap up pretty soon, but I may stay on for a few days. The Speyside region is lovely and I really need a break. Hey, has Dad ever mentioned where the Andrews clan came from? It’d be fun to know if we have relations over here. Love, Ellen

  She sipped the whisky. I hate my first name. And I’m sure that’s why she insists on using it. As many times as I’ve asked her not to. Their relationship had soured as soon as she met Gretchen. When they moved in together…well, that was it. The final nail. Her sister wasn’t much better, but at least they could talk.

  She picked up the phone and took another drink. At least her dad and brother were really supportive.

  The phone chimed with an email.

  Ellen dear, thank you for finally sending a such a brief note. We’ve been quite worried since we hear from you so seldom. Even if you do not wish to correspond with me, think of your father. It just breaks his heart

  Bryce put down the phone. Even thousands of miles couldn’t prevent the stinging slap. Taking vacation was no longer optional. Even with her many successes, her mother could cut the legs out from under her with very little effort. Yes, she’d definitely be staying in this place that made her feel happy, safe, and more like an adult professional. Staying in the Speyside area was a great idea. Edinburgh had a strong appeal, too. Maybe she’d take a couple of brief holidays.

  “Excuse me, Ann?” The young woman came over.

  “Ready for another?”

  “Not just yet. I wonder, do you know much about the local whiskies?”

  She shrugged. “I’m afraid not much. I’m at University in animal science.”

  Bryce smiled. “I guess that’s not your field. I was curious about a sample Billy gave me.” She pointed. “Highland Dew. He said it was no longer produced and I wondered if there was any other information.”

  Ann retrieved the partially full bottle. “I don’t know if the label will help, but have a look.”

  Bryce held up the green and white label. It looked almost identical to the sign at the site, but above it read: Highland Dew, Single Malt Scotch Whisky, Distilled and Matured in Moray. 10 years old.

  The cook appeared carrying a plate. “Heilan’ venison burger?”

  “Yes ma’am.” Bryce unrolled the napkin.

  It looked wonderful. Venison could be tricky, but the kitchen knew how to cook their food. Of course, the bacon, Scottish cheddar, and thick potato wedges didn’t hurt. The first bite was mild and flavorful. Not beef, but a tasty, mild, gamey flavor.

  The whisky complemented the meat perfectly. For a short time, she forgot about her roller-coaster day and enjoyed a leisurely meal. The idea of some down time was more and more appealing.

  The lavender bath salts filled the room with the light scent. Bryce slipped into the tub and allowed the warm water to melt any remaining tension. It was only then she realized the stiff shoulder and neck that had tortured her daily for a couple of years seemed to be gone. She couldn’t remember when it disappeared or even when it started to abate, but the relief softened all the adjacent muscles. The silk
y water glistened on her skin and beaded until she swiped her hand across.

  The sensation brought back some of the tender moments she had shared with Gretchen. It hadn’t always been bad. The first heady days after they met in Chicago, she felt like she was perpetually high. Never in her life had she felt that kind of euphoria. It lasted for a few years until they started to take things for granted and drift apart.

  Then on Valentine’s Day a year ago, she found the letter in Gretchen’s briefcase. She hoped to sneak in a card that Gretchen would find when she got to work. Instead, on two pages of a yellow legal pad was a love letter…from Tina.

  Her throat tightened and a sob escaped. “Damn you.”

  The tears flowed uninterrupted until the bath water cooled. Bryce got out, dried off, and slipped between the soft sheets. But before she switched off the light, she checked her email. Force of habit. There was a message.

  “Hi, Bryce, I’m sorry I didn’t get your message sooner. I had to take Dad for a doctor appointment. Call if it’s not too late.”

  Bryce looked at the time. It was nine-thirty. Was that too late? Did she want to start a conversation about the warehouse?

  She hit call. One ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Bryce. I hope it’s not too late.”

  “Let me go in the living room.”

  Bryce pulled another fluffy pillow behind her and felt a funny sensation in her stomach.

  “There. Dad’s in bed so I need to be quiet. I’m glad you called. I wish I’d seen your message earlier, but I left my mobile at home.”

  “It’s not a problem. I just wanted to come by since I had no appointments.” Bryce tried hard for chipper.

  “That would have been nice. You’re always welcome to come by. Normally I’m here—as you know.” She laughed.

  “Well actually…I did. No one was there and I…”

  “That’s odd. Murray didn’t mention it.”

  Bryce sat up straighter. Odd, indeed. He must have watched her. “Oh. Maybe he was busy, so I left a note in the back doorjamb.”

  Silence. “I didn’t see it. It might have fallen. I’ll look tomorrow. Say, do you think you might have time tomorrow?”

  Bryce took a breath. I will make time. “Sure, maybe we could have lunch?”

  “Great idea, I’ll fix you something. Would that be all right?”

  “I’d like that. Eleven work for you?”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then.” Her voice was like music.

  “Good night, Fiona.”

  Bryce plugged the phone in the charger and switched off the light. Sleepiness swept over her along with a niggling thought. Murray was there? Why didn’t he say something?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Before breakfast, Bryce wanted to take a walk and get her thoughts in order. She didn’t want to rush in without testing the waters. She zipped up her windbreaker and tightened the hood. The morning mist was heavier than usual. In fact, in California they’d call it rain. The trail behind the inn ran through a heavily wooded area that provided some protection.

  The walk was brisk, mainly to warm her, but the analytical part of her brain ran in the background and calculated several scenarios that might answer her questions.

  First, was the Highland Dew barrel in the warehouse full, and was it their whisky? Was there more? If so, could they reopen, and what would it take to do so? Was Fiona even interested in the business? Would Murray be a help or a hindrance?

  After twenty minutes, she turned around, thoroughly soaked, and started back. Could she find enough of the whisky to convince Leo to invest in the product? It could be a big project, but if she was right, they could all benefit from the investment.

  Once dry and dressed, Bryce went down for breakfast. Since she was going for lunch in a few hours, Bryce decided on something lighter than the yummy Scottish breakfast.

  “I’ll have the soft-cooked eggs and toast.”

  “More tea?”

  “Thank you.” Bryce looked over the notes she’d made after her walk. This meeting was important for several reasons, not the least of which was she believed it was the perfect small-batch whisky. The best she’d ever tasted. And, what would that mean for her, her company, and most of all, Fiona and her family?

  ****

  “Can I have a bit more parritch?”

  Fiona turned and looked at her dad, surprised by the request. “Certainly. I’m happy you like it.” She brought the pot from the stove and spooned more oatmeal into his empty bowl, to which he added cream and brown sugar.

  She sat across from him and sipped her coffee. The doctor had started him on a new medication and it seemed to help with his concentration. On the ride home, he had told her the family legend of how his great-great-grandfather began making whisky back when it wasn’t permitted. After being caught illegally distilling several different times, it came out that it really was his very proper wife who’d been making the whisky from her family recipe.

  The tradition had continued with the next generation. The woman who married their youngest son followed her mother-in-law’s teachings to continue the business.

  “Dad, did you ever want me to go into the family business?”

  He blinked. “Och, no. Your mother, rest her soul, wanted you to get an education.”

  “But, what did you want?”

  “I wanted to make the best whisky in the valley and give your mother reason to be proud.” His voiced cracked and his eyes teared up.

  She went for the coffee pot and refilled his cup. When he looked up again—he was gone. Fiona could see the blankness.

  He said nothing.

  It was exhausting trying to find him, even if just for a few minutes. At least he had more energy with the new medicine. She could take him out in the car or for a walk.

  “Miss Fiona?” Murray stood at the back door.

  “Come in. Would you like some coffee?”

  He nodded. “Thank ye. Good morning, Gavin.” Murray sat.

  The blank eyes showed no recognition.

  “He was pretty good earlier.” She handed him the steaming cup and took her chair. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Do you remember my dad ever talking about teaching me the business?”

  He removed his cap and scratched his balding head. “Well, ’course he was all excited when we first put up the sign. Then your ma brought a wee baby girl instead of the boy.” He sipped the coffee and glanced at her dad like it might help him remember.

  Murray actually chuckled. “Once he held you for the first time, he was smitten. After that, you couldna do a wrong thing.” He leaned forward on the table and moved the cup around. “I may be wrong, but if your ma wasn’t so set on sending you to school…I think your da would have enjoyed teaching you what he knew and what he loved.”

  Her throat tightened and tears formed.

  Murray stood and took his cup to the sink. “I’d best be getting’s those files sorted.”

  “Thank you…”

  He was gone and her dad was watching her very carefully. Did he understand all that?

  “Dad?”

  “I need the bathroom.” He pushed back his chair and left—remembering his walking stick. That was a first.

  “Crap.” I completely forgot to ask about Bryce’s visit.

  ****

  Bryce ran back to her room when she remembered the gift she wanted to take. Because of the rain, she’d planned some extra time. The car hummed to life and she turned the heat up. Even though the temps had been mild, the rain brought a chill that was hard to control—especially for a Californian.

  Reggie had been right about buying the hand-knit wool sweater in Glasgow. It felt good. She’d always loved the look of the beautiful knit wear that was so prevalent. On her last trip she’d brought home a thick blue St. Andrew’s tartan throw, which had been a great comfort in the many of the rough spots she’d weathered.

  The two-lane r
oad curved through the farms and woodlands. Cattle roamed in large pastures. All the earthy scents formed a rich medley of smells that, to her, evoked Scotland and whisky. Things that were basic and essential.

  When had she drifted away into the tempestuous realm of business and numbers? Being in the rural areas where life is at its most basic seemed to be a wake-up call. Bryce needed to slow down.

  There it was, the dangling sign. She smiled. Then came the tingle she vaguely remembered as a pleasant sensation often associated with happiness. A genuine laugh rumbled up and surprised her.

  The ground around the house was littered with pink and white petals. It almost looked like snow. The old stone farmhouse looked like a painting. The rain glistened off the slate-tiled roof and dripped relentlessly from rusted gutters on the flowerbeds below the windows.

  Bryce turned off the car and picked up her gift. Let this whisky be the one.

  “Fáilte, please come in.” Fiona held the back door and soon aromas wafted from the kitchen.

  “Thanks. It smells wonderful in here.” Bryce unzipped her jacket and Fiona pointed to pegs on the wall. “I brought you some shortbread. I imagine it’s nothing new.”

  “Oh, I love this, and so does Dad. I never think to buy it. Thank you.”

  The small bright kitchen felt homey and welcoming. Plaster walls painted yellow and worn oak floors were accented by exposed beams. On either side of the kitchen were large-paned windows.

  Fiona walked to the stove on the back wall and opened a black stew pot.

  “I started some stew yesterday, so I’m just adding a bit more.” She turned to look. “Please, have a seat. I’ll get you something to drink. Oh, before you sit, would you hand me the cookbook above you on the shelf?”

  “Which is…?”

  “The old leather book. The family cookbook for generations.”

  Bryce plucked the worn collection of recipes from the shelf and then chose a chair by the window at the long wood table. Above were several bunches of drying herbs, and over the sink hung other pots. “This is a wonderfully homey kitchen.”