Playing with fire a Daniel Jacobus mystery

Decades ago, Jacobus lost his sight literally overnight to foveomacular dystrophy, in a single stroke ending his promising career as a concert violinist. With that drastic change in his life's path, he made an intensive effort to rally his other senses to compensate for his lost one. As a musician, his most precious commodity was hearing, so that came first. He dedicated a half hour a day listening to an encyclopaedia of almost inaudible sounds that others wouldn't even have perceived, from floor creaks to melting icicles, composing an aural picture of the world around him. For smell, he "memorized" the aroma of innumerable teas, coffees, cigarettes, and cigars. And even of perfumes and colognes, not that he would ever apply such odious concoctions to his own body, but simply to have a way to test himself against a labelled product.
 Not the least of his long-term development projects had been to hone his tactile memory, already highly advanced as a professional musician. Jacobus took up the jigsaw challenge mainly because people told him he'd never be able to do it. Starting with an eight-piece wooden turtle, "for Toddlers to Six Years," he gradually worked his way to five-hundred-piece puzzles. He could have gone to a thousand, he boasted, but he found them boring and repetitious.
 His puzzle assembly method required the crucial, first step of feeling both sides of each piece with his fingertips, placing the shiny side face up. Then he felt the lobes and crannies of each and sorted them based upon similarity of shape. Corners and edges pieces he could do in his sleep. Finally, with an "Aha!" of self-satisfaction, he found the correct piece and inserted it into a welcoming opening.
 "I don't think it goes there, Jake" Yumi said, placing a mug of coffee on the table with a calculated thud that enabled Jacobus to hear the mug's precise location.
 "Of course it does. It fits perfectly."
 "Maybe not. I don't recall that Leonardo painted a pomegranate in the middle of Jesus' face."
 "Unless it was during his Magritte period," Nathaniel added.
 "Go to hell, both of you," said Jacobus. "But first give me the phone." Excerpted from Playing with Fire by Gerald Elias All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.