Elizabeth White - Sounds Of Silence

This man wasn’t at all like Rico. Rico had been the life of any party, talking and joking and introducing anything that breathed to his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Eli, she knew, was only thirty or so, but seemed older. Quiet, almost taciturn. She got the feeling he was afraid of her, which in turn made her very uncomfortable.

“Isabel,” he said. She looked up at him and flinched at the sorrow in those piercing eyes. “I’d bring him back if I could.”

“I know you would.” She lifted her shoulders. “But he’s gone, and Danilo needs his grandpa. I’ve just got to get away from here.”

He sighed. “I guess I can understand that.” He set his hat back on his head. “Are you ready to go now?”

“Soon as I find my shoes and lock up the house.”

Isabel set the empty basket against her hip and picked her way through the backyard, skirting Danilo’s sand pile, which was littered with dump trucks, plastic buckets and bent spoons confiscated from her kitchen.

As she entered the small laundry room off the kitchen, she fretted anew at the sad state of the screen door and back step. She’d bought paint with last week’s alterations money, but it was going to be a while before she had time to deal with it. Five bridesmaid dresses, all to be fitted and hemmed by next Friday, hung in her spare bedroom closet. Plus there was the puppet stage curtain she’d agreed to make for Bible School.

Painting and rescreening a door, as important as it was, would have to wait. Maybe the people who came this afternoon wouldn’t look too closely.

Isabel left Eli fiddling with the back door light fixture—which Danilo had somehow broken with the baseball bat his grandpa gave him for his birthday—and went in search of her flowered flip-flops. If she had to be a matronly widow, at least she didn’t have to look like one. On the way past her bedroom mirror, she remembered the pencil in her hair.

Good grief. Quickly she loosened the shoulder-length black mass and ran a brush through it. Lipstick? Sure, why not. Pink to match her shoes. She grimaced at her plain white blouse and denim capris, but decided not to change. Pathetic when a trip to the local Border Patrol station became a social outing.

Wondering why in the world Eli needed her there, she nearly ran head-on into him as she reentered the kitchen.

“Oops.” He steadied her with big warm hands on her shoulders. “I came in to test the light switch, and thought I’d check your fire alarm battery while I was in here.”

Isabel caught her breath. He’d never been inside her house before. She was careful about appearances. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m ready, so we’d better go. I have to pick up Danilo at noon.”

“Okay.” He quickly let her shoulders go, then turned to open the kitchen door for her. “You need a new battery, by the way.”

Isabel pulled herself together as she entered the Border Patrol station. For some reason, it helped to stay close to Eli. He put a hand on her elbow as if sensing her discomfort, held the door for her and seated her in his office.

The Border Patrol community had been her family since the day Rico had moved her to Del Rio as an eighteen-year-old bride. She’d met her husband when she was a junior in high school and Rico a sophomore at UT San Antonio. Her parents had begged her to finish her own education, but because Rico could talk the paint off the walls—a trait their son shared—they’d eventually caved in and given their blessing to the wedding.

And, oh, how happy she and Rico had been! Isabel had quickly adjusted to the desertlike climate and learned to laugh at the idea of landscaping with cactus, mesquite and rocks. They’d found a little evangelical church that suited both their backgrounds and gave Rico an outlet for his love of music. Rico’s partner, Jack Torres, had been a tough nut to crack, but eventually even he couldn’t resist Rico’s insouciant conviction that Christ was the answer to every need. Jack became a believer and literally spent most waking moments in Isabel’s living room, learning to be a disciple.

Now, watching Eli disappear into the dispatch room, Isabel twisted her wedding rings and tried to remember those good times. It wasn’t healthy to dwell on the tragedy that had mown her down like a freight train.

The train had also run over Eli, whose father had been the one responsible for the events that affected all their lives. But he didn’t let it send him into depression. From what she could tell, Eli plowed right on, never looking back. Isabel often wondered what it would take to shake him up.

“Isabel, I want you to meet somebody.” Eli was standing in the doorway looking at her.

She jumped, afraid in a crazy sort of way that he’d been reading her thoughts. How silly. “Okay.” She smiled and tried to see around him. Maybe he had a new partner, although why he’d have Isabel come all the way over here for that—

“Come here, Susie-Q,” Eli said, reaching behind his back. He tugged a small child into view and held her by the hand—a little girl with long, black braids and big, dark brown eyes, appearing to be about six or seven. Hispanic, judging by the golden-brown skin, and so beautiful it made Isabel’s eyes sting.

Isabel looked at Eli for explanation.

He cleared his throat. “She’s deaf and doesn’t speak, Isabel. We can’t get her to tell us her name or where she came from or anything. She showed up at the orphanage yesterday with nothing but the clothes on her back and one shoe. And this.” He lifted his other hand to show her a sealed plastic bag containing a closed switchblade knife.

Isabel took a sharp breath. “Benny didn’t know her?”

Eli shook his head. “Owen and I took some food over there for Cinco de Mayo, and stayed to play for a bit.” He smiled down at the little girl, who was staring at her feet. Apparently somebody had given her a pair of sandals. They were too big, and had rubbed a blister on one foot. Eli jiggled her hand until she looked up at him with sober trust. “When I caught her hanging around, she like to’ve spitted me with the knife. Didn’t you, Little Bit?”

Isabel watched the little girl’s lips curl upward ever so slightly. She seemed to understand she was being teased. There was extreme intelligence behind those dark chocolate eyes. “So what’s she doing here? She’s Mexican, I presume.”

“Kind of a convoluted story.” Eli leaned against the door frame. “I left her there with Benny, but I took the knife. This morning, Bryan Hatcher’s body was found on the riverbank.”

Isabel gasped. “Pam and Rand’s son?” Pam was a member of their church, her husband a well-to-do rancher with friends in the state legislature. Both were well-respected in the community.

“Yep.” Eli showed Isabel the knife’s beautiful pearl handle. It had a raised gold initial “H” near one end. “Here’s where things get weird. This is Bryan’s knife, and it’s got his blood on it. But it had been handled so much, the only distinguishable fingerprints on it were his and Mercedes. Coroner says he couldn’t have killed himself.” Eli grimaced. “The biggest question, though, is how this little lady got hold of it.”

“Oh, Eli.” Swallowing, Isabel looked at the little girl, whose downcast eyes fanned long black lashes onto cheeks the color of damask roses. Instantly her heart ached to hold this little one who’d no doubt been exposed to some terrifying events.

“Yeah.” Eli’s jaw worked as he gently squeezed the girl’s hand. “Hatcher’s been suspected of smuggling activity, and we’ve been watching him. We’re working with DEA, Mexican police and Del Rio Homicide. I’ve been put in charge of protecting her, because we think she may be a witness. If she is, the murderer’s looking for her. My supervisor pulled some strings with our immigration guys, and on the Mexican side, too, so I could bring her across the border.”