An Eye for a Lie by Cy Wyss

Author:Cy Wyss [Wyss, Cy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nighttime Dog Press, LLC
Published: 2019-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

15

Colleagues

Richter was at home that evening when Vessa showed up unannounced. He pulled open the door slowly and was wearing a black eyepatch over his iron eye.

“Hello there, Special Agent Vessa Belle Drake,” he said.

When he didn’t invite her in, Vessa felt self-conscious standing on his doorstep bearing a bottle of red wine. In spite of his earlier behavior, she wondered if she’d misread his interest in her. She straightened up, cradling the wine to obscure it.

“Hello there, Inspector Lukas Jason Richter.”

Naturally he saw the wine despite her downplaying its existence. “You bear gifts,” he said.

“If it’s not a good time, I can go away and we can meet another day,” she said.

He smiled, although it didn’t reach his eye. “I’d prefer if you stayed, but I have to warn you – I won’t be very good company.”

“Problems?”

He stepped back and ushered her over the threshold. “No more than usual. You’ve caught me in a bit of a funk.”

She turned to him. “You’ve got the lights on. I thought you didn’t need them.”

He closed the door and faced her. He pointed to his eyepatch. “It’s not working at the moment.”

“What?”

“The iron eye.”

“What do you mean, not working?”

He led Vessa into the kitchen and took out a large carafe from a cupboard then started to decant the wine.

“It stops transmitting every once in a while. Then I’m blind in that eye. And a little unbalanced, as if my inner ear is confused. If I trip over my own feet or an invisible crack in the flooring, try not to laugh too hard.”

Vessa took her blazer off, hung it over a char, and sat at the kitchen table. She studied Richter. He carefully poured her wine from its bottle into the decanter. He sniffed the cork.

“Black currant,” he said. “And, green peppers.”

“Green peppers?”

“From the stems they leave in. Some compound in them smells like green peppers.”

“Don’t tell me your nose is iron too,” she said.

He half-smiled. “Nope. I just like wine. I’ve trained my palate, you might say.” He turned the cork around in his hand and continued to sniff it. He frowned. “Rubber.”

“Rubber?” Vessa asked.

He picked up the bottle to study the label. “Was this pressed by hand? Or, I guess I should say, by foot?”

“It’s from a tiny vintner in Virginia near where I live. He’s French and a real traditionalist. It wouldn’t surprise me if he stomps through the vats like a nineteenth century vigneron.”

He gave the cork a final sniff. “And, yellow.”

“Yellow? You’re not going to tell me you suffer from synesthesia too, are you?”

He turned toward her and leaned against the counter. “Okay, I won’t tell you.” This time, his smile lit up his good eye.

Vessa was pleased he seemed a little more jovial. She chuffed. “No, you have to tell me.”

“I definitely have confused senses. Very confused. And confusing, in fact.”

“Was it always like that?”

“Nope. Just since my rehabilitation. Like everything else.”

“So, what does yellow smell like?”

“Surprisingly close to green.”

Vessa laughed. “Silly.”

He crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

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