Page 17 of A Scot on the Rocks

Fiona looked at the page. “I don’t know.”

Olivia leaned back in the chair. “It might not mean anything, but you’re all looking for the lost whisky as though someone changed one ingredient and created something magic.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “People who make things every day don’t bother to write down what everybody around them already knows.”

Fiona was quiet as Olivia looked at the notes spread across the desk.

The surviving records were full of half-instructions, familiar names, places mentioned without explanation, and decisions made because the person writing them understood them.

Nobody had written down a recipe for the infamous 1786 Glenbrae whisky. Then again, why would they? They hadn’t known it would become legendary. They’d only been trying to make a living.

Right before Fiona and Malcolm bought the distillery, the single surviving cask of the 1786 had sold at auction for three million to some Silicon Valley finance guy who then proceeded to drink some of it and bathe in the rest of it. Not a single drop saved. He’d lit the cask on fire for fun afterwards.

“I want to see the tunnel.”

Fiona’s expression changed.

“So did the others.”

Olivia laughed. “And did all seven of them leave after seeing it?”

“Three refused to go inside. Two never showed up, and one went in and came back out between five minutes later. Dr. Price lasted the longest.”

“What happened to scare him?”

“He said he heard something, felt someone grab him.” Fiona sighed. “Utter nonsense, if ye ask me.”

Olivia considered that. “Is the tunnel structurally safe?”

“The restored section is. We thought it would be fun for the tourists. Beyond that, no.”

“I’ll stay in the restored section.”

Fiona gave her a look.

“I know that look,” Olivia said. “My grandmother uses it.”

“Is she usually right?”

“Disturbingly often.”

Fiona crossed her arms. “We’ll go tomorrow. With Malcolm. And helmets.” She shook a finger at Olivia. “And don’t wander off by yourself.”

“I’m an adult.”

“So was Dr. Price.”

Olivia looked toward the rain-streaked window again, trying to make out the castle ruins.

“What do the locals say about Dunarraidh Castle?”

Fiona leaned her elbows on the table.

“That it’s haunted.”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“The story changes depending on who’s telling it. Some say the ghost protected smugglers. Some say it frightened excisemen away from the glen. Children used to dare one another to climb up there after dark.”