"Some roads have no destination
Some destinations have no road"
Beauford Williams, July sweat trickling from his brow, dug feverishly by the light of a full Texas moon. On the shoulder of the deserted dirt road on which he labored lie his wife's body wrapped in a soiled sheet. At length Beauford completed the hasty interment, spread and stamped the fine clay-like dust back on top of the site and drove home relieved.
In better times his wife Lorene had been a demure, shapely woman whose soft-spoken charm won his hand in marriage in the spring of 1948. Recently though, something had changed her; changes that Beauford ultimately could not understand, let alone endure; hell, no man could. He had tried everything to appease her mounting, inexplicable hostility, but nothing worked.
Lorene's behavioral changes began with petty bickering that progressed to nightly verbal barrages. Beauford felt positive that some of the language she used had never crossed her lips before. Sensing he was nearing the edge of endurance, Beauford tried to reason with her but instead, scampered from her tirades.
But last night... well, Beauford had not intended to hurt Lorene when she began the nagging. He simply desired peace and quiet. But it was not to be, for the limits of his tolerance snapped and before he knew what he was doing, Lorene's fleshy throat filled his callused hands. Like a stringed puppet gone berserk, her arms flung wildly with disjointed gyrations as she struggled in his grip. Beauford's hard, stubby fingers slowly squeezed the life from her and he watched in fascination as Lorene's eyes glared unseeingly with an expression of mild amazement painted on her pale face, as if to say, "well I'll be!" Beauford regained his composure but not before it was too late. Lorene lie dead on the kitchen floor where she had uttered her last insult.
Beauford was a smart man however, and it required little effort for him to devise a plan to cover his crime. He had no intentions of confessing to the murder, only to suffer the indignation of criminal prosecution. The way he saw it, the antics of his mentally errant wife were beyond the scope of his responsibility or concern and thus he justifiably was excused from her murder.
Burying Lorene's body in the middle of a seldom traveled dirt road seemed a superb idea; an ingenious scheme, in fact, for who would ever think to look there? Occasional local traffic assured the gravesite protection from coyotes and other desert varmints.
Thus, in the cover of darkness, Beauford carried out his plan and buried his wife's body in the middle of Rural Route 16, just 4 1/2 miles from his acreage. Afterwards, Beauford was very pleased with himself. In fact, he felt rather smug as he walked into Sheriff Claude Fricky's office a few days later to report his wife missing.
"Well, Beauford, what brings you into my humble office?"
"Hello, Sheriff Fricky. Well, as you may know, Lorene and I haven’t been getting along so good as of late and I'm a feared she's up and left me. I just been worried sick about it. Waited a couple of days to see if she'd come back before I bothered you with it."
Sheriff Fricky regarded Beauford thoughtfully for a moment before responding.
"Well son, sorry to hear that about the little lady. I know you two's had some problems lately, but hell son, it ain't like Lorene just to leave without saying something now is it?"
"Don't seem like she would, sheriff, but some of her belongings are gone too, so I know she left on purpose."
"Tell me, Beauford, did the two of you have a big fight recently?"
"Why, no, nothing to speak of, Sheriff. Like I say, we ain't seen eye to eye lately but that's no cause for her to up and run off like she did."
"Well Beauford, I don't know what we can do about it right now. Why don't you just go on home and I'll put out some feelers, see if anybody's seen anything, Okay?"
"Okay, Sheriff, but please call me the moment you hear anything at all, don't reckon I can sleep well till' I know something for sure."
"Of course Beauford, you can count on it. Now go on home, son."
Beauford was a good old boy, Sheriff Fricky thought, as he fumbled through the missing person(s) report Beauford had filled out. Give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it, law abiding too.
Years back the two of them had been drinking buddies, living it up around the country and western honky-tonks that could be found in every small town west of the Pecos.
Fricky recalled that it was at the Silver Spur saloon in Austin where Beauford first met Lorene. Fact was, he remembered the event vividly because he was there as well. And just like Beauford, he was smitten with Lorene's sensual beauty. The buzz of booze slinging men around her though should have served as a warning about the quality of her character. But Beauford was not to be deterred. Every Friday and Saturday night from then on found him at the Silver Spur, priming and strutting like a male peacock on the prowl.
Fact was, Fricky began resenting Beauford's supplanting his friendship, opting for Lorene's full attention instead. Fricky supposed that was the beginning of the end of what had been a life-long friendship. In the end, Fricky did not begrudge Beauford, he simply stepped aside and let Beauford pursue his ill-reasoned course despite the good advice.
Well, Beauford went on to marry Lorene about a year later and for a long time, it appeared Fricky had been proven wrong about Lorene. And for once, Fricky didn't mind being proved wrong. Hell, if Beauford was happy, then he was happy.
And happy Beauford was. Seemed like that's all he would talk about, Lorene this, Lorene that. Used to parade her around like a prize-winning heifer. Lorene lived a pampered life. So why, Sheriff Fricky wondered, would she up and leave as Beauford stated? Too, something in Beauford's countenance didn't seem quite right as he hurriedly told his story. Sheriff Fricky then issued an APB as promised and resumed business as usual, content to wait upon further developments regarding Beauford.
In the weeks that followed, Beauford assumed the role of a distraught husband, anxious for the return of his wayward wife. But in the seclusion of his small ranch house he rejoiced in the quiet, Lorene-free environment.
Sheriff Fricky kept in touch like he said he would, but there was no news, of course. Beauford had regained his dignity as a man and his small farm kept him busy through the summer of 1952.
All that changed one October afternoon that year when Beauford went to town to pick up supplies and livestock feed. As he passed the post office on the way to the general store, he noticed a county proposition notice pinned on the public post office bulletin board. Normally not bothering to ever read what he considered posted political propaganda, he, uncharacteristically and out of curiosity, stopped to read this one.
BEXAR COUNTY PROPOSITION # 113
(Bexar County Board of Supervisors)
1. County Correctional Center
2. County Road Resurfacing to include Rural Routes 4, 12, 16, 44, 45
3. Water Conservation and Flood Control enhancements
Projects scheduled commencing 1/15/51, ETC 8/1/51
(George McDougal--Committee President)
Item 2 jumped out and bit Beauford like a rattler. Rural Route 16 was among those selected for resurfacing, though Beauford could not imagine why. The traffic on that route was minimal, used only by a few local ranchers who valued their privacy and would not welcome any county intrusion. Beauford cringed at the thought of a road crew stumbling across his wife's decaying body buried in the roadbed.
What would he do now? So much for ingenious plans he thought. Well, he would simply have to move her corpse and this time, she'd remain hidden until her body returned to the dust.
Two days later around 11:30 PM, Beauford returned to the spot where he had buried Lorene. But now he wasn't sure of the location. The craggy features of the huge boulder that lay off the side of the road that he had originally used as a landmark appeared changed somehow. Nor could he line up the juxtaposition of an adjacent saguaro in his sight as he remembered doing earlier.
With rising panic, Beauford retraced his steps and looked for evidence of his previous presence while walking along the sloping road shoulder. He carried a small flashlight that pierced the thick of night. Finally, he located a slight indentation in the road surface that suggested a prior disturbance.
After some digging, Beauford's spade found the sheet wrapped body of his wife, which now exuded the putrid odor of decaying flesh. Hefting the stiff corpse over his shoulder he suddenly became aware of headlights behind him. He turned quickly to face them, and back around again, imagining he could escape their glare. Resigned, he glanced over his unburdened shoulder to see Sheriff Fricky silhouetted against the glaring headlights of his Police cruiser.
"OK Beauford," Sheriff Fricky called, "put your load down nice and easy-like along with that spade there and walk slowly towards me."
Beauford couldn't move.
"Come on now, Beauford, don't make this any harder than it already is son. Just do as I say and then we'll talk about it, Okay?"
Slowly, Beauford did as he was told, gently dropping the corpse to the ground next to the spade standing upright in the mound of dirt he had unearthed. Beauford's countenance had fallen and he had the look of a shameful, beat man. For all his effort and secrecy, this was the reward; caught red handed by the sheriff himself, in all his elected glory. But by what measure of astonishingly bad luck was the sheriff even here, Beauford wondered? What vengeful god had he insulted to deserve such an embarrassing end? Beauford harbored these thoughts as he stepped toward Sheriff Fricky's cruiser.
Once inside the cruiser, Sheriff Fricky solicited Beauford's confidence and Beauford divulged the whole sordid story of a marital relationship gone bad. With obvious remorse, Beauford revealed the history of Lorene's abusive behavior and how he just snapped one night and killed her.
Then Beauford asked the sheriff. "Claude, how did you know I was out here? Ain't like you patrol these parts personally, specially at these hours."
"Well, son, I didn't know. I was just coming out to your place tonight with some good news on a possible lead about your wife. Seems she may have been spotted in Baton Rouge. But I reckon that ain't so, don't you Beauford?"
The sarcasm didn't escape Beauford.
"Anyway," the sheriff continued, "I saw you high-tailing it from your spread just as I was rounding the bend leading up to your house, so I cut my lights and decided to follow you, seeing how the hour was late and all."
"Just my luck, Claude."
"Well, I'm downright sorry I had to spoil it for you Beauford, but I'm just doing my job, I ain't got no choice in the matter. Besides, if what you say is true about Lorene acting the way she did, the judge may be easy on you. Might even claim self defense, I reckon. But I got to ask you son, why'd you feel you had to dig her up again? Seems like a right good hiding spot where she was. What I mean is..."
"I know what you mean, sheriff, and your right, it is a perfect spot, but it won't be for long, what with the County coming through with graders soon tearing up this old road and finding her body."
"Whoa, son. What on earth are you talking about, graders and the like?"
"Come on, sheriff, I'm talking about the proposition pinned up at the post office. You know, county-wide improvements on local rural roads including this one, that's what I'm talking about."
Sheriff Fricky sat quiet for a moment and then let out a gut clenching belly roar of laughter that rocked the cruiser. Beauford thought the man had lost his mind.
"Why do you find that so hilarious, sheriff?" Beauford asked.
With streams of tears flowing down his face from the laughter, Claude finally regained his composure long enough to respond.
"Beauford, Beauford. Son, you got the worst luck, timing and eyesight I ever seen. Gracious boy, that notice you saw is over a year old. I've been after the postmaster to remove all out-dated notices they got pinned everywhere. They're still advertising war bonds too if you noticed. Didn't you look at the date close, son?"
"What the hell are you tryin' to say, Claude?"
"You know that new cemetery across town, over near the Wiggins' spread?" the sheriff asked.
"Yeah, right nice facility. Even purchased a plot for me and the Mrs. when it first opened. Why do you ask, sheriff?"
"Well, county revenues originally earmarked for those improvements that you saw on that old proposition were diverted to fund the cemetery project instead. Seems that you went to an awful lot of trouble just to get caught. This old road ain't never gonna be any priority with the County, but I suppose there's some poetic justice here. Looks as though Lorene will end up buried all proper like in that new cemetery, in a plot you already purchased, thanks to your little oversight of not checking the date of that proposition. Hell, son, seems like you challenged the course of fate and lost. Can you stand the irony, Beauford?"
Following several murders, means, motive, and opportunity all point to out-of-work actresses Bootsie Kittredge and Babs Harrison. Their claims of righteousness and lack of guilt seem fabricated, thanks to a cheerfull announcement made to the patrons
Six straight men in the cast plus free Tex-Mex food? My friend Lida Rose sure knew how to persuade me. I signed on the dotted line and dusted off my dance shoes. I knew Bad Business on the Brazos would have them rolling in the aisles and standing up
