The Whisky Affair (Raymond Armstrong Series) (6 page)

It turned out that in the case of Auchenagie, the distillery was purchased by Dewars in 1895. Dewar’s had one hell of a portfolio back then. In London, at the turn of the 20th century, the wealthy whisky drinkers would only buy a scotch with the Dewar’s name associated with it. Heck, I mean Tommy Dewar embarked on a world tour visiting twenty-six countries in two years. He came back with thirty-two importer agreements and even secured a royal warrant to supply Queen Victoria. The only reason the company believes this distillery did not survive is the small water source available to them: They could not keep up with demand.”

“It’s not exactly gushing with water at the moment,” Raymond said, turning to the brook. “What about an alternative source close by?”

“This water is special, like many other distilleries’ water today. It had the softness and minerals which created a fine spirit, offering a mellow, smooth whisky for its time.”

“Ha, so what you’re telling me goes totally against some of the big guys in England and France that state casks are everything.”

“Don’t get me started on that. Water is the key ingredient; casks are the key for maturation and the people that make it also have a significant influence. You must have all three. Also, back then they did not mature whisky for as long as we do today.”

“So they began maturing whisky for longer periods around when?”

“In 1915, if you found one that had matured for eight years, it was considered rare and was sought after.”

“Any other types of casks used?”

“Rum for sure.”

Sitting with Gordon was exactly as it had been with them years ago when they were best mates in the school holidays.

“It’s nice to spend some time with you, Raymond. I am just glad you finally developed a passion for whisky,” Gordon said, sincerely.

Suddenly Raymond’s phone rang, breaking the peace and quiet of the countryside.

“Sorry Gordon, I have to take this.”

Raymond listened intently and thanked the caller then put his phone back in his pocket.

“What the hell is the matter, mate? Looks like you have seen a ghost.” Gordon’s voice echoed his concern.

“My mother has just been rushed to emergency. Major stroke.”

“Right, Raymond, I will drive you down there right now,” said Gordon, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t be daft, way too long a drive. Just get me to Glasgow Station. I can be in Yorkshire in no time.” As he spoke, Raymond was already moving toward the car.

Mitch admired the view from his client’s spacious office. Through the glare of the Nevada sun, he could see the swimming pools and golf courses close by, breaking up the vast arid dessert.

In the distance beyond the desert he could just make out the mountains.

A section lined with tall cacti reminded him of the area aptly known as the ‘graveyard.’ Legend said that if gamblers could not pay their debts immediately, they were taken there and buried alive. Their screams were never heard above the constant howl of coyotes. Did not happen much these days – although Mitch had buried a few unfortunate souls that had crossed his path over the last few years.

Shit, he thought, I could be there one day if I ever let my guard down. You have to have eyes in the back of your head in this line of work – particularly in Las Vegas.

The client, Nicholas Cantafio, sat at his desk and peered at Mitch over his half glasses. They always worked the good cop, bad cop routine because it worked like a charm.

“Well, shall we get this over with?” Nicholas asked.

Mitch nodded.

The receptionist buzzed Mr. Cantafio, then announced, “James Reid is here to see you.”

“Send him in, please.” Mitch cracked his knuckles just as the door opened.

James walked into the office looking sheepishly at both Mitch and Nicolas. Mitch strode over to him, stopping an inch from his face, his nostrils flaring, his eyes cold and unflinching. He put his hands on James’ shoulders.

“I gave you an opportunity that others would die for…and you blew it. Time to pay up. You are becoming a big disappointment to us, James. What are we going to do about your father?”

“Please, don’t hurt him. He’s just stubborn and will come around. I am sure of it.”

Mitch pushed James into a chair at the other side of Nicholas Cantafio’s desk. “I had your word this would all be done by now. It’s gone on far too long ––”

“Mitch go easy on him. Get him a drink, a good scotch from my collection,” Nicholas interrupted.

Mitch poured James a generous shot of Highland Park and pushed it front of James. James stared at it, too frightened to pick up and betray his shaking hands. He thought he might faint from the pressure.

“Our source in Scotland is telling us the Scottish government is about to make policy changes that will affect our arrangement. Time is of the essence, James. This will greatly affect our proposal and we need to move fast. Have you anything else to offer to change your father’s mind? What about Louisa? Can she be persuaded to have your father finalize this transaction?”

“God, no. She is stubborner than my father, especially when it comes to the distillery. She knows nothing about this and I would rather it stayed that way. I will phone my father again this evening.”

“Thank you, James. Leave us now. We will talk on this later,” said Nicholas, with his most sincere voice.

James could not get out of the office fast enough.

As the door shut behind James, Mitch remarked, “He’s definitely a lost cause. I could see it in his eyes. He has pleaded with his father. That was the only way out and his pleas have fallen on deaf ears. Gordon Reid is a stubborn man. I scared him half to death and still we are no nearer.”

“Okay, Mitch, you know what to do. Make it clean, with no possible repercussions that could come back this way.”

“No problem.”

“How soon after it is done can we expect the paperwork to be completed?”

“One week, tops.”

“Good,” said Nicholas, seemingly satisfied.

Smiling, Mitch left the office, winked at the receptionist, and took the elevator to the mezzanine.

He knew that once James’ dear old daddy was dealt with; he could turn Louisa around to their way of thinking – no sweat. In fact, he would enjoy her resistance, have some fun in the process.

Raymond opened the door to the family’s large white cottage that sat in a small section of the mews right in the center of the village. He only had to walk a few feet and cross the road to be in the park. He inhaled the fresh spring air and continued walking downhill. He smiled to himself as he looked out in all directions at the magnificent village before him. He took another deep breath.

Haworth, sitting high on a vast stretch of moorland in West Yorkshire, had been a fabulous place to grow up… The village with its stunning views had inspired the three Bronte sisters to write their amazing novels: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and Agnes Grey. As well as these the three sisters, spaced two years apart in age, wrote many more books and poems while living in the tiny village – accomplishments perhaps unique in literary history.

In more recent times, the opening scenes of Werewolf in London were shot on the moors just above the village. Even before the movie’s release, Raymond had felt uncomfortable being out late in Haworth with a full moon.

There was not a human being on the planet who had ever really scared him, even when his job demanded that he come up against some of the worst characters that ever graced our wonderful planet.

The occult was totally different. Stephen King books scared him half to death and he stayed away from horror movies. The ones that made you think that is – not like Zombie movies that made him chuckle.

He passed the bandstand and the bowling green and continued to his favorite area, the pond, where he spotted what he thought was a decoy. The large bird stood perfectly still until, after one full minute, it made a slight move of its head. Raymond realized the large bird was for real and could not remember ever seeing a heron in that area before. He sat on a bench quietly and watched the bird move, ever so slightly. There was no longer any doubt it was a heron and the bird quickly snapped up a small frog and flew into the sky with majestic ease, its breakfast secured.

The constant noise of water from the fountain situated in the center of the pond, reminded Raymond this was also Gordon’s favorite spot.

Being down by the tracks was a special treat for him, though the locals in Haworth were used to the sounds of the steam trains.

At that second, as if giving him a sign, Raymond heard a steam train in the distance. That brought Raymond back into the present.

He walked at a fast pace toward the bridge, thinking about sprinting – wanting to be racing Gordon again, and wanting to beat him for a change.

Those were the days, thought Raymond as he continued to walk at a fast pace. Gordon had been his best friend and they had been totally inseparable back in those days. Raymond took a deep breath, looked into the sky. “Those were the good old days, right mate?” he said to the air around him.

He was aware they were getting older and that things changed, at times too quickly and not always to be explained. A disquieting feeling niggled at his brain: Something was just not right with Gordon.

He had one last look at the station as he strolled down from the footbridge to face the mile-long walk back up the steep hill to the village. At the base of the hill, he looked up the famous cobbled high street, now busy with tourists. There were many old book shops, antique and gift shops with everything that could be made featuring the Bronte sisters.

Raymond continued his hike up the street and decided a reward was in order – a pint at the Old White Lion Pub. He passed a popular café offering a list of scrumptious Yorkshire delicacies such as ‘pie and peas’ and ‘fat rascals’ – a kind of cake from an old 18th century recipe.

Signs outside every café offered cream teas – one of Raymond’s favorites: a scone, jam and thick clotted cream with a pot of tea. Decadence at its ultimate…

Last was the church and graveyard where the Bronte sisters had been laid to rest. He knew the Bronte family had lived in Haworth from 1820 until 1861 yet he’d never been to the graveyard. Today something told him to go.

He walked slowly around the back of the church to see rows of gravestones, all crammed into a tiny space.

Uncomfortable intruding, he sat on a bench under an ancient oak tree where the sound of the crows cawing rose until it was almost deafening, amplifying his fear – the very reason he’d never come here before. These dark birds were smart and people told him all their commotion was just communication between families. Even so, this had to be one of the spookiest spots in the whole of Britain, with ghost stories and sightings on par with those of the Tower of London.

He quickly got up from the bench. The White Lion seemed to be the best spot in the world and it called to him. He took one last look at the many graves and noticed the one nearest to him had the name of some poor soul who’d died in1851.

He was reading the epitaph: “Death Comes to All” when he saw movement many rows back. Of course seeing strange movement in that cemetery was nothing new. This had happened to him every time he considered going in as a kid. So, today was to be no different. The crows started back up again and congregated in a tree directly above his head as if making ready to dive and attack... That was it.

He literally ran from the graveyard and across the road to the pub.

“A pint, Frank, please,” Raymond said to the landlord, trying to catch his breath. Frank looked at him knowingly and replied, “Saw you coming out the graveyard like you were being chased by a ghost.”

Raymond ordered another pint and bangers and mash for lunch. He tucked into his food that overran with thick onion gravy that made him smack his lips. He constantly had to use his serviette to wipe the gravy off his chin.

Feeling mellow, with his stomach full, his eyes became heavy. Figuring it was time to head out, he paid the landlord and headed back to the house to take a nap.

All these personal memories were overwhelming. He had always lived by a routine, putting the job first. Now, he had his parents to worry about… And something was up with Gordon – he knew that without doubt. And to cap it all – Raymond had fallen for his old flame, all over again.

Gordon was in his office working late on a presentation. At this time in his life, he was rarely at the distillery after 5:00. However, today he’d been distracted by the predicament James was in and it took all of his mental strength to focus on his work.

How could his son have been so reckless? His irresponsible actions could ruin the distillery, his family, and all Gordon had worked so hard to accomplish in his lifetime. Louisa would be devastated and he just could not let that happen to her. She had become Gordon’s rock, while James, on the other hand…Well, they had spent the day together on a business trip to Glasgow, arguing the entire trip.

Drinking almost a half-bottle of their flagship 12-year-old single malt whisky after arriving back from the city, had calmed Gordon’s nerves. But, now he felt woozy.

Gordon was so distracted that he did not hear the distillery’s main door open and close. Suddenly, his office door was pushed wide. Gordon had to look twice. Was the man walking into his office in fact merely an illusion; and was their encounter a few weeks ago now playing tricks with his mind?

He took a deep breath and yelled. “Get out my office now or I will call the police.”

“I don’t think so,” said the cold voice. The visitor pulled out a gun and aimed it directly at him. He moved to Gordon’s desk, placing a slim briefcase on top. Never taking his eyes off Gordon, he opened the briefcase and produced the documents Gordon had been invited to sign on numerous occasions.