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“Did I ever cross that line?”
“Mmmm . . . no.”
“But I came close.”
“Yes.”
This didn’t sound good. “I think I need a drink.”
“Why?”
Rapp grimaced. “I don’t like hearing this.”
Lewis took this as a good sign. Progress with Rapp was rare and should be celebrated. “I could use a drink as well. Come on . . . follow me.”
The two men left the study and moved down the hall to the open living room and kitchen. Rapp was surprised to find Kennedy in the kitchen, a series of files spread out on the table in front of her.
Kennedy looked up and asked, “How’s it going?”
Rapp shrugged, not feeling that it was his place to judge his progress or lack thereof.
“It’s going well,” Lewis said.
Kennedy could tell by the tone of Lewis’s voice that he was sincere, which got her wondering. “How is his memory?”
“Good. A lot of things are coming back.” Lewis grabbed a bottle of cabernet and started searching through drawers. He found a corkscrew in the third drawer and opened the bottle. He grabbed two glasses and held one up for Kennedy.
“Please.”
Rapp had filled a tumbler with ice and was standing in front of a bar cart in the living room, his right hand dancing over the tops of the bottles. “Would one of you please remind me what it is that I like to drink?”
A look of distress washed over Kennedy’s face, and she shared a look of concern with Lewis.
“I’m just kidding,” Rapp announced. “Vodka, occasionally scotch or whiskey, gin and tonic in the summer, margaritas when I eat at a Mexican restaurant, a little high-end tequila when I’m south of the border, and I think I got sick on Campari once.” Rapp started pouring some Grey Goose into a glass. “That was years ago, of course. I think it was Stan’s fault.”
“That’s more than I knew.” Lewis shot Kennedy a raised eyebrow.
“I do remember hearing something about you not being able to hold your liquor.”
Rapp came back to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “I think my problem was that I was dumb enough to think I could go drink for drink with Stan.” Rapp’s entire body convulsed at the thought. “Not a fun memory.”
“Speaking of memories,” Kennedy said as Lewis handed her a glass of wine. “Thank you. Speaking of memories, how do you feel about Switzerland?”
Rapp took a sip of vodka and said, “Switzerland . . . nice country. Could you be more specific?”
“Banking . . . bankers, actually. Do you remember doing any business with Swiss bankers over the years.”
“Of course. Herr Ohlmeyer and then his sons. This isn’t about his granddaughter, Greta, is it?” Rapp had had a relationship with the woman years ago.
“No . . . not that I know of. Is there something you’d like to tell me about Greta?”
“Not very professional,” Rapp said, shaking his head in disappointment.
“How’s that?”
“Just because I had this little knock on the head, that doesn’t mean you guys get to go on a fishing expedition through my memories.”
“It was worth a try,” Lewis said with a shrug. “I’ve never found him to be this cooperative.”