Highland Dew

by Jeanne Magill

  “It’s an amazing city with lots of character…and great food.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  Bryce had to think. “I know. Deep dish Chicago-style pizza.”

  “What makes it so different?” Fiona shifted in her seat to face her.

  “Where to begin? Each piece is like a whole meal. It’s about two inches thick with lots of rich tomato sauce, chunks of Italian sausage or pepperoni, and gobs of mozzarella cheese. You sometimes need to eat it with a knife and fork.” Bryce felt her stomach rumble.

  Fiona laughed. “We didn’t ever eat, did we? Are they going to be angry at the inn?”

  “I hope not. Billy will have told them, I think.”

  “There’s a tight curve ahead and the drive is just beyond, easy to miss.” Fiona said.

  “Well, I know that curve.” She slowed and switched on her high beams to look for the sign.

  “I know it’s quite late, but I’m famished and still a little wound up. Would you like to come in for a bite?”

  Bryce felt her cheeks warm, happy it was dark in the car. “That does sound good.” She pulled alongside the house and stopped. As she got out, Fiona asked something about ham, but Bryce noticed a light in the office.

  “Does Murray often work this late?”

  Fiona came around the car. “Fire! That’s not a light.” She ran to the office and pushed the door open.

  Bryce came in right behind and saw flames licking up from the wastebasket beside the desk that Murray was slumped over. “Grab the back of the chair.”

  They both held his jacket and the chair, and rolled him out.

  “I’ll get water.” Fiona ran to the house.

  Bryce looked around and spotted the heavy doormat, which she dragged in and draped over the flames. By the time Fiona returned, the blaze seemed to be dying.

  “Let’s wait a second before pulling off the mat.”

  Fiona put down the bucket. “My God, what happened?”

  Bryce moved to the other side of the desk. “There’s a half empty bottle of whisky and a full ashtray. I’d guess he fell asleep and dropped a cigarette in the basket.” It seemed peculiar. “Has he done anything like this before?”

  Fiona shook her head. “Not that I know of, but it’s one more thing I don’t understand.”

  Bryce carefully lifted the corner of the mat and the flames were gone; just smoke remained. She grabbed the bucket and slowly poured the water on the smoldering paper. “When the metal cools, I’ll take it out of here.”

  “Thanks. We better check on Murray.”

  He snored quietly, draped in the chair in the middle of the driveway.

  “I’ve a good mind to leave him there,” Fiona said.

  “Where does he live?”

  “He’s one of the two cottages just behind the building.” She nudged his shoulder. “Time to go home, Murray.”

  After another poke, he cracked one bleary eye. He sat up when he recognized Fiona. “Oh. Miss Fiona…Where is. Yes, I’ll be on my way.” He pushed up and teetered.

  “I’ll steer him round back if you can get the trash can outside.”

  Bryce watched her push and pull the man down the driveway. The idea of a quiet pleasant meal together faded with the smell of the smoky wet papers and the grey smoke stain on the back wall and ceiling. She used the mat to pull the basket out the door, and went back to check the desk, wall, and file cabinet to be sure they were cool.

  Fiona returned just as she put the chair back and turned off the light. “Might be a good idea to leave the door open to air the place out, if you think that’s safe.”

  “Sure. Let’s go in, I’m still hungry.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Old smoke. Fiona sniffed again. It was on her shirt. She opened her eyes and saw the back of the sofa. Slowly her mind’s eye tape rewound to the fire in the office, then making sandwiches…drinking wine…listening to old music from the forties. She rolled over and looked across the room to see Bryce sound asleep in the recliner looking so relaxed and…what? Attractive. Her dark hair hung across her forehead and her lips were barely parted. She looked so young and peaceful, not at all like the worried business woman.

  Fiona sat up and folded the small knit blanket. They had talked about everything long into the night and early morning. Their family, friends, and not surprisingly, their last girlfriends. Who was Bryce talking about? Gayle? No, Gretchen. It must’ve been painful since she still seemed so raw. How could anyone cheat on this woman?

  She quietly slipped out to the kitchen and started some coffee. The refrigerator held nothing wonderful, but there were some scones and jam.

  Dad. The scones brought back the whole evening and tears blurred her eyes. It was still too early to call. Yesterday felt like it was so long ago, but it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. She set out two cups and sat at the table where the sun warmed the room. It felt overwhelming to think about all that had happened in the past few weeks.

  She wiped her nose and sighed. Solving all the problems loomed even larger with no real solutions in sight…or too many. What she did know for sure, was that she had been wrong about Bryce. Her offer to help was genuine and generous.

  “Hi.”

  Fiona looked up and saw Bryce standing in the kitchen doorway. “Hi. Did I wake you?”

  “No. My hand fell asleep and hurt.”

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “That sounds great.” She came over to the counter. “I guess we faded quickly last night. Last thing I remember was hearing Ella Fitzgerald.”

  Fiona laughed. “I don’t think I made it that far.” She set the table and brought over the scones and jam, milk and sugar. “Please sit, here’s your coffee.”

  “Thanks. Have you called the hospital yet?”

  “No, I didn’t want to wake you. I will. Sorry I don’t have a proper breakfast.”

  Bryce touched her hand. “It was a long day and a longer night. I probably should have left sooner, but I really enjoyed myself. It was nice to relax, drink wine, and laugh with someone. It’s been awhile.”

  “Yes, it was nice for me as well. I’m glad you were here. I would have been a wreck if I’d had to juggle everything by myself. You were a life saver.”

  “Speaking of…any word from Murray?”

  “No. I don’t expect him to show his face any time soon.”

  “I was going to go check the office.”

  Conversation stopped, and they both sipped their coffee in companionable silence.

  When they finished cleaning up the kitchen, Fiona called the hospital and Bryce washed up.

  Then they’d check the property. Fiona realized Bryce had only seen the warehouse, cask room, and office but none of the back buildings. Since she was determined to learn and help, she might as well.

  “All set?” Bryce’s hair was damp but combed, and she looked happy. She extended her hand.

  Fiona took it and they walked out into the morning sun. Everything looked new and fresh except for the blackened wastebasket.

  “I’m glad you thought to leave the door open to air it out.” Fiona stepped in and looked around. “It needed painting anyway.” The desk had dozens of small slips of paper lined up. Rings from a wet glass were splotched over several. The old adding machine had a long column of figures. “What do you suppose he was doing?”

  Bryce leaned over her shoulder. “Think he had bills to add up?”

  “I doubt it. We went through all the receipts last week.”

  “Hey, what did the hospital have to say?” Bryce picked up several slips of paper and sifted through them.

  “Dad slept well and ate breakfast. The doctor hadn’t been in yet.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  The closeness and quiet felt awkward, and Fiona said, “I want to check on Murray, and I want to show you more of the property.”

  ****

  Reggie used the extra day to meet with an old friend from school who worked for a lar
ge law firm specializing in discrimination. The restaurant he’d chosen looked expensive and noisy. The tables were set to allow some privacy, but there was no sign of Curtis Lee.

  She had dated him briefly sophomore year. Frat boy, old money, and a total misogynist. He’d be interested if her story was lurid enough. After all, she wasn’t looking for a big win…just a payoff and some payback. As she rehearsed her story, a small cloud of nostalgia and guilt passed over. Bryce had been a good friend for a long time, and truth be told, she felt more jealous than angry. The MacDougall product would be a big coup, not to mention the attractive daughter.

  Her phone dinged. Text.

  “Running late, be there in twenty minutes.”

  Arrogant asshole. But, she did promise to make a call if she got to Chicago. “Yes, may I speak to Mr. Takata? Just tell him it’s Ms. Ballard from our meeting on Islay.”

  ****

  “I figured Murray would disappear for a bit.” Fiona closed the cottage door. “And I should probably get my car. I have a few errands to run before Dad gets home.”

  “Right. When we get to the inn I can give you a check in advance for the two barrels you want to sell immediately.”

  Fiona stopped at the back door. “Are you sure you can do that?”

  Bryce pulled her keys. “Grab your stuff and I’ll explain on the way.”

  “Okay. Oh, would you close the office door…and lock it?”

  Smoke still lingered, but not nearly as bad. Bryce looked at the scraps of paper again. “Never heard of Ladbrokes.” The figures looked like times or amounts of something. She heard the back door of the house slam, and turned to leave. The door locked as she pulled it closed.

  “All set.” Fiona got in and Bryce started the car. “You wanted to explain?”

  “Yes.” She lowered the windows. “When I drove down to Glasgow to meet with Ian, we talked about taking a small loan, if you and your dad decided to reopen the distillery.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Fiona snapped.

  “Hear me out. After we inventoried what you had and figured out what expenses you’d have to get the whisky bottled and sold, I added in a guess at the amount still owed—about five thousand pounds more. Ian agreed, and the bank was willing to open a line of credit for twenty thousand against future sales.” Perspiration dampened her forehead, and she gripped the steering wheel in case Fiona went off.

  Silence. More silence.

  “I’m not sure I understand why a big company like yours would be willing to loan money to a small enterprise run by…no one. It doesn’t seem to be a very sound business plan.”

  Her voice sounded measured.

  “You’d be right. However, regardless of how the details are worked out, we do know, for sure, that you are in possession of whisky that is worth approximately two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. If you should decide—and it doesn’t need to be in a hurry—to reopen and start making more, you can parse out the release of the current stock for a while until you’re on solid ground with staff you trust.”

  Bryce slowed through Archiestown, where they’d had lunch.

  “This seems a little too good to be true. The banks I’ve dealt with aren’t so generous, and I’d expect that international corporations wouldn’t be, either.”

  Bryce laughed. “Right again. This deal was done through our Global Distillers and Distribution main office in Airdrie. They might be able to do the bottling and distribute it.”

  “What if something happened to mess things up? If Dad doesn’t get better or we can’t find help, or…if I decide I don’t want to shoulder this?”

  “That’s why it’s a line of credit and…I cosigned the first draw.”

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  Bryce pulled off the road and parked. “No, I’m not. I believe in this product, and I believe in your family. Regardless of which way you decide to go, I promise I will be here to help. Whatever you need.”

  Fiona opened her mouth and stopped. “What about your job?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—trust me, a whole lot. I’m going to take a leave to work and live here.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I love being here and I don’t know exactly why, but some of it has to do with you and some to do with the challenge of being involved in the production end of the business. That’s the part I enjoy.”

  “I’m flattered but, I still don’t understand.” Fiona’s eyes crinkled with worry.

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted sideways. “Do you remember the day David came out and I went to count the barrels?”

  Fiona nodded.

  “When I finished, I saw the door leading to the still room. I went in and looked around. I wanted an idea of how much it would take to get things up to speed. When I looked at those beautiful old copper stills, something inside me opened up, I guess. I wanted to be a part of something with pride and tradition. I wanted to do something that required skill and passion, not just selling.”

  Fiona took her hand. “This really is that important to you.”

  Bryce wiped her teary eyes. “Yeah, I guess it is. I didn’t mean to go all mushy on you.”

  “Don’t apologize. I actually do understand. I’ve had similar feelings lately about pride in the heritage of what my family built. It’s just I was also overwhelmed with how to take care of it. I still am.”

  “Would you promise me to just think about it?”

  “Of course. In the meantime, let’s sell a little whisky and get the bills paid.”

  Bryce grinned and buckled up. “Great!”

  Few words were spoken for the rest of the ride. Bryce felt a huge sense of relief just being able to verbalize her desire. Now, it felt like an actual plan—and a good one at that. The next hurdle would be telling Leo. But for right now, she took Fiona’s thoughtful silence as a good thing. She hadn’t balked or laughed. With any luck she’d see the wisdom of this partnership. Is that what she was proposing?

  As they neared the inn, Fiona said, “I parked around back.”

  Bryce parked next to her car. “Can you come in, or shall I run up and get the check?”

  “I’ll come with you.” She unbuckled her seat belt and got out. “I love this view of the river. Do you ever leave the slider open to hear the sounds?”

  “Yes. When it’s not a rowdy night in the lobby.”

  They walked around to the front entrance and upstairs. “What I need you to sign is a loan agreement that the money will be repaid with the sale of the Highland Dew whisky, minus expenses or a contract with GDD for sales and distribution with MacDougall Distillery.”

  Fiona read the form and took the pen. “Tell me honestly, if this was your decision to make and your family…would you do it?”

  Bryce touched her shoulder. “I wrote this for that exact purpose. This form is between you and me, not the company. If you get the bills paid and decide you want to do something else, you’re free to do it.”

  Fiona shook her head and smiled. “Where did you come from? Your kindness is…so, unexpected.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I must have inherited some Midwestern values.”

  Fiona signed the form and Bryce signed the check.

  “Here’s to the MacDougalls.” Bryce put out her hand, but Fiona threw her arms around her neck instead.

  “I can’t thank you enough for believing in us.”

  Bryce didn’t move or breathe. She wanted to remember this moment and the woman in her arms. It’d been a long time since she’d enjoyed the comfort of belonging. Too long.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Fiona followed the A95 down to Charlestown where the family had always banked. She hoped she could slip in and deposit the check in the company account without running into the bank manager. He was just doing his job two weeks earlier, but she’d felt so foolish begging him for a loan. Of course, at that time she didn’t know about the whisky in the cask room. That certainly wou
ld have provided collateral.

  The coast was clear, and she filled out a deposit slip hurriedly while watching the office door on her left.

  “May I help you?” A very young woman smiled at the open teller counter.

  “Yes, thank you. I’d like to deposit this check in the MacDougall Distillery account.” She signed her name and wrote the company name on the back.

  “Right away, then. Oh, did you want any cash withdrawn?”

  “No. Just the deposit, thanks.” She glanced around casually. It would not do her well to attract suspicion from the security guard. She smiled. As if.

  “All set. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not today.” She took the deposit receipt and stared at it. There was a great deal of money in the account. She felt almost giddy. I can’t wait to tell Dad and write checks for those overdue bills.

  She pulled out on High street and her phone rang. “Hello?” She stopped.

  “Ms. MacDougall, this is the nurse from the Doctor Gray Hospital calling about your father.”

  “Yes, is he all right?” Her stomach tightened.

  “Oh yes, but the doctor wants to speak with you. Could you come by?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I can be there in half an hour. Will that work?”

  “That’ll be fine. I’ll let him know. Goodbye.”

  So much for shopping.

  With a few minutes to spare, she passed the old hospital building and parked near the new addition. She hurried up to her dad’s room and let the nurse know she was here to see his doctor.

  Behind the curtain, her dad dozed. The gash on his forehead was bandaged over and he now had a black eye. “Hi, Dad.” She kissed his cheek.

  He blinked a couple of times. “Fi, I’m so glad to see you. Can you take me home now?”

  “Let’s see what Doctor Evans has to say, shall we?” She pulled a chair closer. “How’re you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “Mostly fine, but they won’t let me have my pipe.”

  “Do you remember what happened the other night?”