Highland Dew

by Jeanne Magill

  “That’s great. We don’t often get anybody interested in the small offerings from our community.” He laughed. “Remember when I tried to get your dad interested in making gin?”

  She just nodded. “I do. It didn’t go over well.”

  “Yeah. It’s even more popular now.” He shrugged.

  “Okay. I wanted to ask her for some advice, but yesterday some other woman I didn’t know showed up here and asked me to sign some kind of contract.” Tears welled and she swiped at them. “David, I don’t want to sign something I don’t understand, but I need some money soon. The bank is frustrated, and I don’t want to lose everything.”

  “Show me what you’ve got. I need to see the balances in arrears,” David said. “We can figure this out.”

  Fiona opened the ledger and slid it around to David.

  He adjusted his glasses and ran a finger along the column of figures. After several minutes, he said, “Now, how many barrels have you got on hand?”

  “One hundred thirty.”

  “All right. Last figure I saw was about £1,500 per barrel, if it’s in bourbon barrels.” He looked up. “That’d be about two hundred thousand pounds. Especially if it’s as old as you say.”

  Fiona flopped back in her chair. “You’re serious?”

  David’s face remained stoic. “Well, of course I am.”

  “That’s a great deal of money.” Her brain felt short-circuited. “That would cover our debt?”

  He barked a loud laugh. “Oh yes, it certainly would.”

  A warm sensation started in her chest and bubbled up as a smile, then a big grin. “Oh David…I had no idea.”

  “Yes, you did seem surprised.” He smiled.

  The doorbell interrupted the merriment. “Fi, there’s someone at the door.”

  She laughed and got up. “Yes, Dad, I heard it.” She hurried to the door and swung it open.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Bryce spotted a newer-model 4-door car parked next to Fiona’s car near the back door and slowed down as she looked around. Her nervous anticipation momentarily sidelined her curiosity. Had Fiona been so angry that she’d immediately called someone to sell the whisky for her? Quit manufacturing problems.

  She glanced in the mirror. Aside from bags under her tired eyes, she was presentable. With her messenger bag over her shoulder, and a box of Walkers Shortbread, Bryce rang the front doorbell. Gavin hollered, and she heard Fiona.

  When the door swung open, they both stood like deer in headlights. Bryce thrust the cookies forward, and Fiona’s quick smile drooped.

  “What can I do for you, Bryce?”

  “Please let me apologize and explain. Please?”

  Fiona wavered, then said, “David, I’ll be right with you.” She stepped out and closed the door behind her. “Be quick, I have company.”

  “I did not send Reggie over here. She went behind my back in an effort to gain some kind of recognition.” It was hard to catch her breath.

  Fiona just listened.

  “She knew I went to Glasgow to try and arrange a way to support you and your dad, and thought she could muscle in and get credit.” No reaction.

  Bryce looked her in the eye. “I am so sorry. I would never do anything to hurt you or your father.” Her voice cracked. “If you could just listen to my offer, I think you and your father would be pleased.”

  Fiona sagged onto the wooden chair beside her and shook her head. “This is so hard and so confusing. Dammit, Bryce. I want to believe you, but that woman said you sent her because you were too busy.”

  Bryce crouched in front of her and touched her hand. “Fiona, when I told you I wanted to be here for you, I meant it. I’ve brokered a deal with the main office to help MacDougall Distillery get back on its feet…if that is what you want. And I’m willing to take a leave to help you…if you—”

  “Are you serious?” Her face clouded with confusion.

  “Yes. I believe this is a worthwhile investment.”

  Fiona leaned back and took a breath. “If that’s so, then it’s serendipitous that our accountant, David Bascomb, is here waiting in the kitchen.”

  The sun filtered through the apple tree branches and lit up Fiona’s green eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed the dimple in her left cheek? “Can I show you what I have?”

  Fiona invited her in and called David from the kitchen. “Let’s sit in here with Dad, so he can hear what you’ve got.” She sat next to him. “Dad, you remember David. I’ve been talking to him in the kitchen.”

  “Of course, I do. He’s been here for awhile now.” He nodded at him.

  Bryce sat next to David on the couch and smiled.

  “And this is Bryce, the woman who went with us to look at the Distiller’s Edition in the cask room the other day. Do you remember her?”

  He squinted then smiled. “Aye. Switched the lights and counted up the barrels.”

  Fiona let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, you’re right. She’s come to talk to us about a proposal to reopen the distillery, if we want to.” She turned to Bryce. “Could you give just the outline version, and then we can discuss it with David?”

  Bryce opened her bag and pulled out some folders with the Global logo and picture. She handed one to Fiona and one to her dad. “David, I’ll share this one with you.”

  Gavin smiled. “This looks pretty fancy, miss.”

  “As I mentioned earlier, our company is interested in distributing Highland Dew internationally. I believe it will be very popular, so if you are both interested in restarting production, I am willing to help provide a low-interest loan for renovation and training of staff. Global will help with bottling and promotional material to roll out the new Distiller’s Edition. We’ll pay you cash up front to restore your credit based on the anticipated sales of the whisky.” She looked at Fiona, who seemed to be following. David was reading through the numbers, and Gavin nodded and looked pleased.

  “It’s still my distillery?”

  “Yes, sir, it is. You may have people you want for the different jobs, and might offer Fiona a position.”

  He squeezed Fiona’s hand. “Indeed, I would. First thing, though, we’ll need to change the sign out front, since it’s the daughter, not the son.”

  They all laughed.

  He stood. “You folks work out the details. I need a little rest.” Then grabbed his stick and navigated back to the bedroom.

  Fiona sat, biting her lip. “I think this sounds good—a little too good. Let’s get some tea and talk about this in the kitchen.”

  Bryce anticipated her hesitancy. “I’m sure you have questions, and I think you might have a few for David. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to check the dates on the barrels so we know what we’re dealing with. If that’s okay?”

  Fiona set the kettle on the stove and turned. She looked at David, paused, then said, “Okay.”

  Bryce slipped her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  The yard was dry and quiet, but the bay door was closed. She pulled a notebook and flashlight from her bag and stuck them in her pants pocket.

  She pulled on the dented door handle until the metal door creaked up about five feet, enough to get under. Her flashlight helped find the light switch and everything looked and smelled the same: dank and musty. The ramp to the cask room was damp, and she looked for the fuse box and flipped the two switches, which startled a bat that flew out when she opened the door.

  “Geez.” It felt creepier than the last time. There wasn’t a lot of time, so she started on one end and wrote down the label on each row, rack, number, and letter. She used an old piece of newspaper to wipe the lettering on each. With better light, she could see the label more clearly. Distillery on top, name of whisky, year, and serial number.

  The rack held eight barrels on three tiers. She copied each one, and after an hour, her feet were cold and she felt dizzy from the whisky fumes. But, it was an amazing collection of whisky. Three different batches from 1989 and 1998. S
he’d hoped to find a way to taste one, but until the ink on the deal dried, she dared not.

  Lights off and the cask room door shut, she looked around the large room. She’d need some measurements of the warehouse itself, and jotted a note. Another metal door marked “Keep Door Closed” was in the far corner. That was tempting.

  It wasn’t locked, and opened easily. Inside, was a huge two-story room with two copper stills. She climbed a ladder to the elevated platform. The old stills were gorgeous and oxidized from neglect. She touched the side of one that was cool to her touch, and solid. Six skylights lit the space and tools of the trade like thermometers, funnels, mallets, and spreadsheets lay on scattered barrels used as desks.

  A slow drip of water caught her attention. It came from the bent edge of the metal roof. This place would take some work to get up and running, and she’d need some expert help to evaluate it for recommendations. Malcolm maybe? He had started in production.

  She returned to the farmhouse, closing doors as she went.

  ****

  Fiona poured another cup for David. “So you think this deal is good?”

  “I’m not an expert. You’d need Owen from the bank to evaluate it. But I will do some research on this company.” He pointed to the brochure. “If they’re as stable as they look, this would be a wonderful opportunity.” He sipped the tea and looked at her. “Fiona, you know this person better than I do, but it seems she has a serious interest in getting the business up and running, which tells me they really like the ‘Dew.’”

  “That would be wonderful. But there is so much involved in running this business, and I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “Where’s Murray? He certainly knows this stuff like the back of his hand.”

  “That’s a good question. He slips in and out says nothing. He’s done chores and checked on things, but he’s acting so strange. I don’t know if I can depend on him.”

  “I suppose that can be sorted out, but just know it would be a good idea to sell some of the whisky to get some bills paid.”

  “You’re right. I can do that without deciding about the distillery.” She stirred sugar into her tea and looked at the brochure for Global Distillers and Distribution. They certainly did have offices all over the world and represented a number of different brands, including several she recognized. “Would you be able to help me decipher the initial deals?”

  “Of course. I don’t think you should worry too much. This company looks pretty legitimate.”

  “Yoo hoo?”

  Fiona responded, “Come in.”

  Bryce set her bag down. “Would it be okay if I wash my hands?”

  “Sure. Right over there.” Fiona pointed over the counter. “Would you like some tea?”

  “That’d be perfect.”

  When they were all seated, Bryce opened her notebook. “Sorry, that took a bit longer than I expected. But, it’s good news. Everything is clearly marked, and there are sixty barrels labeled Highland Dew 1998. Seventy-two are marked 1989 Special Ed. Six are marked Highland Dew Sherry 1989.”

  David whistled. “That’s more than a little leftover whisky.”

  Fiona couldn’t make her mouth work. Without a lot of sales experience, it seemed like a great deal of whisky. She knew even with back-debt, that would definitely cover the expenses. She looked at Bryce. “Thank you for doing all that. Can you break down what you propose in small steps I can understand?”

  “Let’s see. If I were you, I’d want to get an idea of the costs to bottle and ship some of the whisky—enough for immediate expenses. Then I’d like a reliable third party to plan out subsequent releases for the most benefit, while deciding whether or not it’s worth reopening the business.”

  David spoke up. “Do you know anyone who’s qualified?”

  Bryce tapped her pen. “I think so. There are a couple of savvy people in the area that I trust.”

  “Can we arrange another meeting with them before I have to sign anything?”

  “Sure,” Bryce said. “One question. Do you think there’s a way I can taste what’s in those barrels?” She smiled. “Wouldn’t do much good if they’d gone bad.”

  Fiona smiled. “I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

  “I’ve got an appointment this afternoon. But I’ll be in touch.” David picked up the folder. “Can I keep this?”

  “Sure. Thanks for your help.”

  “Let me walk you out.” Fiona showed him through the living room and out the door. “Thank you for being here. It really helped a lot.”

  She closed the door and took a breath. She had to face Bryce alone, and she was more confused than ever. Reggie probably was acting on her own, but that still didn’t say much for Bryce’s employees. On the other hand, it would be wonderful if that was true—the immediate problems would be solved. It might be possible to return to Edinburgh and her own life, she thought as she headed back into the kitchen. Bryce sat huddled over her notes, chewing on the pencil while her bangs, sprinkled with grey, fell over half her face. Her shoulders rounded, but they were broader than Fiona first thought. A streak of dust covered the side of her dark slacks. This did not look like a person working a scam.

  “Still crunching numbers?” Fiona sat across from her.

  When Bryce looked up, a reddish blush covered her neck and cheeks, beneath a smear of rust. “I have to be honest with you. I’ve worked in the business end for almost fifteen years, but always in sales.” She laughed. “I did spend my summers working in a vineyard, so I know how to get my hands dirty.”

  Fiona smiled. “Yes, I can see that.” She pointed to Bryce’s face.

  “Oh yeah.” She wiped her cheek with her hand. “The problem I’m having is trying to give you a dollars-and-cents idea of what you have here. I can only speculate on the barrel price, but then there are fees, taxes, shipping, bottling.” Bryce swept her hair back. “After we get that, I can work my magic.”

  Her smile was radiant.

  “I understand. I’m not sure who used to bottle for us. It might be on one of the invoices.”

  Bryce gazed into space for a moment, then said, “Just a thought. The bottle of Highland Dew I had at the Inn said it was a ten-year-old, and the most recent barrels you have here are at least twelve years old.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but what I’m thinking is new labeling because this will be a new product. And the other barrels contain what will probably be a twenty-one-year-old, in sherry casks.” Bryce jotted some notes. “If I can suggest an idea.”

  “Certainly, why not?”

  “This is the part I know.” She grinned again. “If I was responsible for getting the word out, I’d do a new marketing campaign for the MacDougall Family Distillery. A new brand to show the long history and new thinking.”

  Fiona leaned back. That had never occurred to her. Since it hadn’t been available for some time, there might be people who had never heard of it. “That makes sense, but it’s beginning to confuse me.”

  Bryce set down the pencil. “I’m getting carried away. Let me toss out an idea.” She slung her arm across the back of the chair. “I don’t know if I mentioned it, but when I first arrived, I met with an old friend and former employee, Malcolm. He started with us in production at our Airdrie distillery and worked his way up to administration, then left to work for Tamdhu.”

  “That’s right over in Knockando.”

  “Yes. He was the one who did the original testing with me when I discovered Highland Dew. I’ll bet he’d be able to explain the steps to get the whisky to market.”

  Fiona smiled. “That would help.” She walked over to get the kettle when she heard the back door, and turned.

  “Afternoon, miss. I didn’t mean to barge in when you had company, but it was warm outside and I thought Gavin might enjoy a bit of a walk.”

  “Murray, I’m glad to see you. You remember Bryce Andrews? She’s interested in getting the business back on its feet.”

/>   “How do.” His expression darkened.

  “Nice to see you, Murray.”

  “He might be up now, why don’t you ask him?”

  She poured a little more tea.

  “Fiona, do you think Murray has ever tasted the whisky during the process?”

  ****

  Reggie finished packing and walked downstairs to check out.

  “Sorry you have to leave us,” the young desk clerk said. “I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

  “The staff was wonderful and everything very comfortable.” Reggie handed her the key and her business card. “Ms. Andrews and I are here for a business trip, so she asked that I put my charges on her account so she can submit them to the main office.”

  “Of course, we can do that. Would you just sign here?”

  Reggie smiled, and picked up her bag. “Have a nice day.” The idea of running back to Alness and seeing Joe tempted her, but there’d be too many questions. Better to use the drive time to figure out the next step. Her advantage would be arriving home first and inventing her version of the wildly successful trip. First task: Ian Smith. She needed him on her side.

  The sign showed the entrance to the A95 and she merged onto the highway, opened her windows, and turned up the radio. Even though she was still pissed at Bryce and that damn Fiona MacDougall for screwing up an opportunity, it was a relief to be done with all this wasting time driving around farmland looking for a magical whisky. It would be good to get back to San Francisco and her social life.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Bryce had left several six-ounce sample bottles in hopes that Murray or Gavin could help Fiona get the whisky samples they’d need. The water swirled around the sink as she washed her hands and face, half-amused by the dust and dirt she’d attracted in the old cask room. Fiona had shown great restraint by not laughing out loud.

  Bryce hung up her towel, and dug for a clean shirt. Her jeans needed washing, and so did most of her things. Might be a good idea to ask about a laundry soon.