LITMIR.BIZ

      TWO

      The news flew out to the reporters as quickly as a storm could blow across the lake. The investigators had found the remains of Jimmy Don Beets, and he had indeed been murdered.

      Suddenly, thousands of residents in the nine chain-linked lake communities remembered that night back on August 5, 1983. Almost two years earlier.

      As dusk settled over Cedar Creek Lake, the sky took on canvas-painted pink and coral hues, promising another beautiful sunset. Impressive homes circled the lake, some with as many as eight bedrooms, and just as many baths. Behind those were more modest homes, followed by acceptable trailers on wooded lots, and down the pecking order to rusted trailers that sat anywhere they could find a plot.

      The regulars who kept their boats docked at the Redwood Marina had tied up their crafts for the night and were inside the paneled office betting each other on the bass fishing contest planned for the next morning.

      Gabby Harrison would have rather stopped at one of the many taverns in Seven Points for a cold draft beer, but fishing had been good so he’d stayed later than usual and now would be late getting home. He had to settle for a can of Miller Lite that swam in melted ice in the bottom of his boat’s cooler.

      After making some comment about “my old lady will be wondering where I am,” he pushed open the door and went out on the dock. He paused a moment and squinted through the gathering darkness; then he turned around and stuck his head back inside the office.

      “Hey, y’all,” he called, “something looks kinda fishy out here. Pardon the pun.”

      Tex Beaucamp’s curiosity pulled him off a folding chair, and he went outside to investigate. Both men stared at a green-and-white boat bobbing in the dark water about fifty feet from the dock. It appeared empty.

      “We better take a look,” Gabby suggested, and Tex nodded.

      Gabby untied his boat and they climbed aboard. He didn’t start the engine because of the short distance, so he rowed to the other boat. By the time they were a stone’s throw away, they heard a gathering behind them as their fellow boatmen collected on the dock to watch.

      Gabby noticed the motor had been pulled out of the water. “Looks like somebody’s had engine problems,” he said.

      Once they were alongside the nineteen-foot inboard-outboard Glastron, Tex threw his leg over the side and climbed on deck. Then he called back to Gabby, “Nobody’s here, but whoever was sure left in a hell of a hurry.” He bent over and picked up a card and read, “ ‘Jimmy Don Beets.’ At least that’s what his fishing license says.”

      Gabby frowned. “God, no, not Jimmy Don. He’s that Dallas Fire Department captain. Really a nice guy, and he’s big enough to swim clear across the lake.”

      “Maybe he did,” Tex replied. Then he reached down to the floorboards and retrieved a small bottle. “On second thought, maybe he didn’t. This here’s a prescription for nitroglycerin. That’s probably what all these pills are around the bottom of the boat. Here’s his glasses, too.”

      Gabby tossed Tex a rope, who threaded it through the boat’s towing ring to haul it back to the marina. The waiting cluster of people began examining their find. Many faces darkened when they learned the name of the boat’s owner. “He was always the first to offer help if you had a problem,” one sailor said. “I went fishing with him just last week,” another recalled. Stories flooded back of fishing trips, barbecues, or sitting around Beets’ living room, drinking a cold beer while watching the Dallas Cowboys on television.

      Another man brushed his hand over the boat’s motor. “Must have hit something underwater that sheered off the propeller. Blade’s clean missing. He didn’t even have a chance to get a wrench out of his toolbox,” he said, nodding toward the metal container that also lay in the bottom of the boat.

      Nighttime began falling as everyone stood outside, discussing the mystery of the empty boat. Thousands of lacy-winged water flies, twice the size of large mosquitoes, zigzagged back and forth, darting to the lights outlining the dock.

      The marina’s owner, Lil Smith, sized up the situation and dashed inside for the phone book. She found a listing for a J. D. Beets and dialed the number. Nervously tapping a pencil on her desk, she listened to the phone ring over and over, but no one answered. Periodically, she’d go outside and listen to the men, then trudged back in to make another call. After several unsuccessful tries, it was almost ten before a woman answered.

      “Yes, this is Mrs. Beets.”

      Lil told her of finding the boat and its contents.

      “Oh, dear! Jimmy Don went out fishing last night. I’ve been worried sick about him. I called the sheriff this morning and reported him missing.”

      “I tried to reach you earlier,” Lil said, “but no one answered.”

      “I went up to Dallas today to do a little shopping with my sons. Got back about eight, but I’ve been out planting flowers in my yard ever since. Guess that’s why I didn’t hear the phone. What should I do, come get the boat?”

      “I’d suggest you stay by the phone in case he calls. His boat will be fine. We’ll tie it up for the night and there won’t be any charge.”

      “I’m a nervous wreck hearing all this. Maybe I’d better come right over.”

      Ten minutes later, a breathless Betty Beets hurried into the marina’s office. “I came as soon as I could.”

      Lil couldn’t help but notice the men eyeing Betty’s full bosom, and her Texas-big blond hair. At the same time, Lil took in Betty’s perfectly applied makeup, her spotless blouse, and her crisply creased jeans. Very clean looking for a woman who’d been out working in the yard.

      Betty asked to see Jimmy Don’s boat, so they led her outside to the dock. She gasped when she saw the familiar sight. Then she soberly fingered his eyeglasses, pill bottle, and fishing license. “What on earth could have happened to him?” she said to no one in particular. “He was so good at fixing things. Why, he’s fixed dozens of motors for friends, although his own motor had been giving him some trouble lately. ’Course he did have a heart attack five years ago,” she said, dropping her head toward her chest.

      Lil’s husband had drowned a few years before she still remembered the anguish and loss she’d

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