By Brett Matthew West
Spreading like a wildfire, the volcanic fervor exploded into the vicious July heat in Judge Hal Stancil's packed courtroom. The much anticipated trial had dragged on for six agonizingly long weeks. Bedlam ruled. It required the shrewd magistrate to constantly bang his walnut gavel, demanding order!
Beads of diamond-shaped perspiration saturated the cro-magnoid forehead of Defense Attorney Terrence Hightower. A stylish man of the mid-sixties persuasion, with strong brow lines and a touch of dignifying gray at the temples.
Withdrawing a neatly folded white handkerchief from the inside pocket of his single-breasted Armani Collezioni suit, the buoyant lawyer slowly advanced to the bench. Fastidiously, Hightower dabbed away the river of crystalized wetness from the middle of his forehead with a dry corner of his handkerchief.
With conviction, the gaunt attorney remained in control as he stopped directly in front of the young corroborator seated at the witness stand. Carefully, he worded his next question.
The attester, who held his own in an arduous line of inquiries, impressed Hightower. Seldom in his forty plus years of courtroom decorum had the Defense Attorney encountered one as capable. For sixty pulsating minutes they battled. Neither gained an inch.
With presumptive aplomb, Hightower glanced down at the clipboard he held in his right hand. His probing eyes found the entry he was gazing for, and the askewed question emitted from his mouth.
Slowly, as if to keep the mobbed courtroom hanging on to his every word, he quizzically demanded, "Earlier you testified that you found the defendant, John Marbly, laying unconscious on the well-manicured front lawn of the residence of the deceased Sharon Montoya. The aforementioned victim in this case. The bloody murder weapon clenched tightly in his hand."
Hightower paused for effect before he dropped the barrage he wanted to ignite. Piercing the witness with an ice cold glare, Hightower petitioned, "Isn't it much more accurate to state that you placed that knife in John Marbly's hand after you stabbed the deceased 27 times yourself?"
Hightower's alarming accusation captivated the courtroom. Was it possible this witness had lied all along while providing his testimony? The massive crowd buzzed loudly.
Repeatedly slamming his gavel down with thunderous ferociousness, Judge Stancil harshly beseeched the multitude gathered in the gallery, "Order! Order in my courtroom! I will have silence or I will immediately clear all spectators from this hearing!"
Knowing Judge Stancil was a man of his word, the fascinated crowd grew forebodingly quiet. Not one of the onlookers compelled the Judge to take the action he promised. They all desired to hear the youthful witness's reaction to Hightower's insinuation.
Suddenly, the sonorous voice of Walter "Bluefish" Galvin, the acclaimed State Attorney prosecuting the case, echoed off the rustic paneled walls of the courtroom as the big man jumped to his feet like somebody kicked him, and exclaimed, "Your Honor, need I remind the court that Cody Schroder is not on trial here for murder? He is merely a state's witness to this horrendous atrocity."
Galvin instantly pointed at the disheveled, sandy-haired, homeless vet seated at the defendant's table on the near side of the court and remarked, "John Marbly is the accused in this matter! Therefore, Mr. Hightower's question is not only inappropriate, it is also deliberately misleading, and it is nothing more than badgering the witness!"
Taking a long sip from his water glass standing on the far corner of the bar, Hightower smiled slightly and responded, "My question, Your Honor, goes straight to reasonable doubt and attempts to reach the truth in this witness's testimony that is full of holes wide enough to drive a Mack truck through. Need I remind the court that Cody Schroder has a well known criminal history here in Brazos County?"
A hushed murmur swept through the gathered assemblage. Hightower had cast the doubt he had been searching for. The twelve members of the jury looked at one another. They remembered the event Hightower referenced. Everybody in Astatula knew about a certain vandalism incident Cody Schroder, and his best friend Matt Cochran, had been jailed for.
They also recounted his indecent exposure while skinning dipping at Sullivan Lake the day he was shot by the Astatula Assassin. Could it be Hightower was dredging up ghosts from the past to discredit Cody Schroder?
Feeding off the exhilaration, the wily Counselor stated, "If need be, I will call Sheriff Daniels to the stand to verify the fact of that statement. Therefore, I entreat the court to instruct the witness to please answer my question without any further delay."
Cody did not wait for Judge Stancil to direct him to do anything.
"No, I did not kill Sharon Montoya!" he steadfastly remarked, "That is the most preposterous allegation I have ever been accused of!"
Cody took a deep breath. He could feel the noose tightening around his scrawny neck.
"Is it now, Cody?" Hightower shot back, "Let's just examine your history of abuse, shall we? As I see it, you have plenty of reasons to strike out at somebody. And, after what Sharon Montoya did to you, you had every justification to brutally attack her...at least, you thought you did."
Cody repositioned himself in the witness chair.
Hightower continued by warning him, "I will remind you that you are providing your testimony under oath. I will also inform you that should you commit perjury, and lie about anything that I ask you, I will see that you are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law!" Moving nose-to-nose with Cody, once again, in an even tone he demanded, "Did you murder Sharon Montoya?"
Stubbornly, Cody did not respond.
Seizing the opportunity, an exasperated Hightower specified as he withdrew from the witness stand, "I believe his actions speak louder than any words he could possibly state. Your Honor, I move for immediate dismissal of all charges against my client."
From his lofty perch on the witness stand, Cody recalled the circumstances surrounding the fateful scenario in question . They played out like a video tape recording rolling through his mind.
Instantly, State Attorney Galvin stood in front of him gently asking, "Cody, what can you tell the court about Sharon Montoya? Take your time in replying, Cody. Nobody is going to pressure you into answering my question. Least of all me. All we want to know is the truth. Did you murder Sharon Montoya?"
With all attention in the courtroom sharply focused on him and what he might admit to, Cody's diamond blue eyes locked on to the State Attorney's. "No, Mr. Galvin, I did not murder Sharon Montoya," he announced. Then, he cast a glance at the defendant and continued, "Neither did John Marbly."
Cody's comments created hysteria in the courtroom and once again Judge Stancil slammed his gavel down hard on top of the bench demanding, "Order! Order!"
Grasping the significance of what Cody told him, the State Attorney asked, "If you did not murder Sharon Montoya, and John Marbly did not murder Sharon Montoya, who did?"
Cody surveyed the courtroom. The answer to that question fixated back on him like they had been all afternoon. But, without enough evidence to convict the perpetrator, Cody knew he could not name names. He also knew Astatula had a storm brewing on the horizon.
| Author Notes |
After suffering ten years of hellacious physical, emotional, sexual, and psychological abuse at the hands of his biological sperm donor is Cody Schroder a cold-blooded murderer?
My newest Cody Schroder book, Legs, will draw on incidents that occurred in my first beloved Cody Schroder book Astatula. Those of you familiar with Cody should have no problems following along with the storyline contained in Legs. Those of you who have not followed Astatula will indeed be questioning several incidents referenced in Legs. You may also wish to read Astatula as well. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with all my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
Nestled on the west bank of the majestic and wild Brazos River, the elegant Queens of the Court Lawn and Racquet Club contained early-20th Century Spanish Colonial Revival architecture. The cliquish enterprise possessed white stucco walls. A low pitched clay tile roof provided the facility an earthy, rustic attraction.
Terracotta ornamental ironwork graced its edifice. Its double-hung windows and canvas awnings highlighted the exclusive lodge's outer accentuation. Perhaps the most appealing feature was its semi-circular arcade and six massive columns.
There was also a curved archway, circular steps, and a terracotta tiled patio that led to the expressive mesquite main double doors of the country club.
Cody sat perusing the morning edition of the Astatula Gazette newspaper while his Dad placed their supper on the dining room table. It was mahogany, oblong, and comfortably seated six people. Only two places would be required for their meal of bacon cheeseburgers and parmesan-seasoned French fries with oodles of ketchup, at least for the youngster.
Looking up from the paper, Cody initiated their conversation by saying, "Dad, there's an ad here in the Sports Section where "The Queens" is looking for Ball Fetchers."
With a blank expression on his face, Sheriff Brock Daniels asked Cody, "What's that?"
"You know, boys who sit at the side of the court during a tennis match and retrieve balls for the players," Cody enthusiastically expounded.
"And?" his Dad questioned him out loud.
"I can do that, Dad!" Cody replied persuasively. He knew he had to obtain his Dad's permission before he would be allowed to apply for one of these positions that interested him.
"You can do that?" his Dad wondered in mock bewilderment.
"Yes, Dad. I can do that with no problem," Cody countered back.
"Son, I can hardly get you to do your chores around the house and you want me to allow you to take on a job?" Sheriff Daniels commentated.
"It's only on the weekends for the Summer, Dad!" the little high-flier protested, "Besides, I handle my paper route okay, don't I?"
"You do provide a mighty admirable service with delivering your newspapers, Son. I will admit that," Sheriff Daniels complimented him. He paused a moment before saying, "Except on two rare occasions as I recall."
Cody remembered those incidents well. In fact, he would never forget either one of them. The second one happened last Friday. The first one about a month before that. Sheriff Daniels watched Cody squirm a little in his chair. The lessons had been learned the hard way.
Seizing the opportunity he told him, "You brought those tail feather pluckings on yourself, Little Man."
Cody liked the sound of that name. He was proud to be Sheriff Daniels' Little Man. He was thrilled Judge Stancil had approved his adoption by the Sheriff two years earlier, after a lifetime of hellacious abuse at the hands of his father, Earl Anthony Schroder.
Crashing headfirst into a guardrail at ninety-three miles an hour, Earl Anthony Schroder perished one night in a drunken stupor. To Cody, it was no loss at all. Living with Sheriff Daniels, Cody felt wanted and protected. Most of all, for the first time in his whole life, Cody felt loved.
Sheriff Daniels asked Cody, "How many times have you been told when you arrive at a customer's house to get your laziness off your bike and walk their paper up to their porch, not throw it up there?"
"I know I'm supposed to do that Dad," Cody acknowledged. He took another bite of his burger, chewed the meat into tiny pieces, and swallowed them. Then, he continued with, "It won't happen again."
"I would hope not, Son. Broken screen door glass can get expensive," his Dad told him.
"It can hurt, too!" Cody confided, "A lot!"
"Some times a tad of chastisement applied to a particular portion of your lower anatomy is what it takes to get a message through your mule-thick, stubborn, blond head," his Dad commented, "now, finish your supper. A growing boy like you needs to eat."
"Oh, you mean this ninety-nine cent heart attack," Cody teasingly responded.
"Yes, I do," his Dad retorted.
"What if I promise to do all my chores from now on? Then, would you let me be a Ball Fetcher?" Cody wondered devouring his last French fry whole.
The Sheriff usually supported Cody's whims. This time his Dad seemed hesitant about the prospect.
"Why are you against my being a Ball Fetcher, Dad?" Cody asked.
"I think you're taking on too much responsibility, Son," the Sheriff told him, "but, I'll tell you what I'll do. You get the yard mowed tomorrow like I've already asked you to and I'll give you my final answer when I return from Brooksville."
Cody knew he would have to wait for his Dad's decision.
"For now, Little Man, I want you to clear the dirty dishes off the table and wash them. Then, go play some video games. I have a report to finish writing," his Dad said.
| Author Notes |
After reading an ad for Ball Fetchers at The Queens Lawn and Racquet Club, Cody attempts to persuade his Dad to let him become one
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
The inside of The Queens was as regally chic as its outside. Cody had never witnessed such an overwhelming display of wealth before. Marble statues of tennis players filled each corner of the lobby. Most of them held rackets in various positions.
Photographs and posters adorned the whitewashed walls. There was Rod Laver, Billie Jean King, and Jimmy Connors. Examining the full extent of the room, Cody even noticed a mural of Chris Everett winning Wimbledon staring back at him.
Of course, there was also Arthur Ashe, Ivan Lendl, Evonne Goolagong, and many others. Although Cody did not know who all these famous athletes were, they presented a definite sight to behold. Especially in a young boy's wide-eyed wonder.
Making his way across the inlaid marble floor filling the foyer, Cody found a round table containing the short, one-page, questionnaire the club used for all potential employees. On the wall overlooking the desk was a picture of Sharon Montoya. The brass plaque under her portrait identified her as the Founder and President of The Queens. To Cody, that was impressive.
"Whoa!" Cody thought to himself. He'd never encountered such an important dignitary before.
Little did he realize soon he would meet her in person. Plopping down in an overstuffed chair, Cody extracted an ink pen, with the name of the club imprinted on it in gold lettering, laying on top of the desk. He began filling out the form.
When he finished that, Cody stuffed the pen into the front pocket of his 501s. Rising out of the chair he'd been comfortably seated in, Cody knew he should not have pocketed the pen without asking if he could have it. But, the little kleptomaniac liked the color and how easily it wrote. So, he did. He knew better than take something that belonged to somebody else.
Noticing a young female at the Information Desk, he made his way to where she was seated.
"Hello!" she warmly greeted him as he approached, "You're cute! What's your name?"
"Cody," he answered her liking the sweet way she smiled at him.
"I'm Naomi," the female told him, "are you from Astatula?"
"Yep," Cody responded.
"You on Facebook?" Naomi wondered.
"I am Pinto10Y," Cody replied. The name was a direct question of his life as the poster boy for abuse in his home town of Palo Pinto before he was relocated to Astatula, "Facebook me some time."
Naomi smiled again. Cody wondered if she would actually contact him socially.
"Got your application all filled out?" she questioned him.
"Uh-huh." Cody responded.
"Okay then, Cody. All you have to do is take it down that hallway straight ahead of you. The one where the sign is hanging on the door. Miss Montoya will interview you down there," Naomi told him.
"Thanks," Cody said as he started to walk away from the Information Desk.
"Oh, and Cody," she called after him. "Don't worry. You're too cute not to get the position! Miss Montoya is going to like you!"
Cody hoped the petit brunette in the daffodil-printed dress was right. He liked The Queens...and he liked Naomi.
"Facebook me some time!" Cody called back to her. He really hoped she would.
A one-quarter inch thick oak-brown wooden sign hung on the front door of the office located at the far end of the hallway Naomi had directed Cody to travel. It read:
"OBSERVE ALL THE EYE CANDY YOU DESIRE! BUT, KEEP YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF THE MERCHANDISE!"
This was the first sight Cody beheld upon merrily arriving at his destination.
"Eye candy?" I wonder what that is?" Cody thought out loud to himself. He had never heard of such a treat before. Perhaps he would try some if he got a chance to engage in the delicacy.
The more Cody involved himself in activities happening in Astatula the more he grew to love the little town. A place where corn popped up in rows and longhorns made the best neighbors. Becoming a Ball Fetcher would also provide the diminitive Go Getter another opportunity to earn some pocket money. Cody liked to make the cash register ring, and Greenbacks possessed one of his most favorite colors of all
Wealthy and refined. These two adjectives described Socialite Sharon Montoya. Her money was Old Family oil. The Queens, her lifelong ambition. A handsome woman of thirty-five, Sharon Montoya made her living preying on the needs, wants, and desires of others. Especially those she found below her dignity. That was most other people.
Fashionably attired in her flowing Kuala Lumper Nightingale dress, and dangling teardrop-diamond bracelets circling her slender wrists, Sharon Montoya was a piece of work with a heart of stone! Swords crossed with her resulted in the life blood of her victims being drawn. Carrying herself prudently, she emitted power over all she encountered.
An elite member of the Who's Who Of Brazos County, Sharon Montoya built The Queens from a noble idea into the marvelous enterprise the operation became. With pride, she added each stunning feature of the 5-Diamon property to her collection, from the lighted tennis courts, to the enormous recreation center simply known as The Sharon. A pro shop, an equipment rental company, and an upscale restaurant specializing in courtside concierge service were included in the package.
With short-cut auburn beehive hairstyle and Tommy Hilfiger shades dominating her physical features, this was the woman Cody encountered as he walked into the office he'd been directed by Naomi to enter. He immediately noticed the woman's hawk-beak nose, close-set turquoise eyes, and long, expansive chin as he handed her his application.
Without a word, Sharon Montoya quickly snatched the form out of Cody's hand. Then, she gave him a slight smile. Cody thought the crack might actually break her face.
"Cody Schroder from Palo Pinto," she nonchalantly began.
"No, ma'am," Cody innocently corrected her, "I now live in Astatula."
Jabbing a sharp finger in the direction of his chest the venomous rattlesnake hissed, "You were procreated in Palo Pinto, were you not? There, you did reside under the watchful eye of Earl Anthony Schroder, who I knew very well thank you, did you not?"
Her comment surprised Cody. Before he could speak a word, she continued with, "Therefore, while you may take up residence in Astatula at the current moment, you are in fact from Palo Pinto. Do not undermine my authority again, Young Man! I do not tolerate insubordination from my underlings!"
Cody's mind returned to her comments about Earl Anthony Schroder and about being under his watchful care. He wondered how she knew him? He also would not have described his lift in Palo Pinto as being under his watchful care. Not by any stretch of the imagination. All he could think to ask was, "Does that mean I am now a Ball Fetcher?"
"That is what your application implies, is it not?" she softly purred. With a sudden, abrupt, change in her persona, Sharon Montoya told Cody, "Welcome to The Queens, Cody! I know you will enjoy your time here. Let's get started, shall we?"
Pushing herself away from her expensive desk, Sharon Montoya stated, "Follow me down to the uniform room, Cody. Time's a-wasting! I need you out on the courts."
Licking her finger, Sharon Montoya traced the length of Cody's nose saying, "My clientele only accepts young, adorably cute, boys like you." Then, she roared like a lioness in heat.
Mesmerized, and unable to help himself, Cody blushed.
Leading him to a nearby cubicle she instructed him, "All boys must change from their street-clothes into their white tennis outfits in this room only. You must also return your worn outfit at the end of each shift so that it may be laundered. Then, you shall obtain a new one at the start of your next shift. Every day, without fail. Noncompliance will result in automatic termination."
Cody understood her instructions. She warmly suggested, "Why don't you go in and prepare yourself? I'll return in a few minutes to show you the courts and get you started."
Cody entered the room where he found an assortment of tennis outfits laying neatly stacked on a table. He selected his proper size, looked around the room and noticed several other boys seated there in various states of undress. He found a space in front of an open locker and sat down. He only knew one of the other boys in the room, though not very well. He had seen him around Astatula Middle School, but did not know his name.
The boys exchanged friendly greetings while they dressed for their shifts. What none of them realized, not even Cody, was on the other side of a one-way mirror, Miss Montoya had gathered with a client. He seemed overly interested in their observations.
Gleefully clapping his hands together, the man assured her, "Once more you have outdone yourself with this Summer's crop. Very nice, Sharon. Very nice indeed!"
"I am honored that you approve," she quickly responded admitting, "they are a banner crop indeed. Especially the newest one, Cody Schroder."
"Oh yes! I have heard marvelous news about that one. So fit! So smooth! So shapely!" the voice sounded.
Reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker he extracted an envelop, "I proudly present your Finder's Fee, Sharon. All ten thousand dollars of it!"
Specifically viewing Cody's every movement, he cooed, "So very, very nice indeed! That one I most certainly must meet. Soon!"
"As you know my friend, that can easily be arranged," Sharon Montoya assured him as she stuffed the envelop into her shoulder bag, "I'm taking him out to centre court. Care to join us?"
"I shall follow where you lead, my Dear. Cody would certainly become a tasty morsel tonight!" he answered her.
***(This chapter takes Cody's character into a new direction. So...I am mainly looking for honest feedback: good, bad, or even ugly! from Cody's legion of fans. Would certainly help if you were familiar with Cody and his previous storyline.)
| Author Notes |
Cody becomes a Ball Fetcher but enters into a dangerous situation.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
Hell-bent to make it on her own, and feeling like she no longer belonged in Astatula, Beth Sorenson parked her powder-blue Spyder Sportsrod in front of the Watson Erdelmann Tower. Located at 121 East Beacon Street, in Downtown Oklahoma City, the skyscraper was the home of her employer the Jacobson Mortgage Corporation. It was there Beth held the position of Senior Credit Manager. This was not the way Beth envisioned her life turning out.
For the last five and a half years, Beth had been engaged to Sheriff Brock Daniels. Astatula was to be their forever home. But, not any more. Most of their betrothal occurred before Cody Schroder arrived on the scene. However, Beth did not blame Cody for what happened. Not really.
Beth climbed out of her Sportster. She snatched her black briefcase off the backseat pausing for a moment to reflect, "You only have yourself to blame for that one, Kiddo. After all, you're the one who brought Cody to Astatula in the first place. Why couldn't you leave not well enough alone? Now look where you are!"
And, then she pondered, "You're the one who ran. You weren't thrown out."
Beth clearly remembered the day she first became aware of the little munchkin's plight. The Palo Pinto Ledger headlines screamed the news in black and white loud enough for the whole world to hear: "SEVERELY ABUSED BOY NOW ORPHANED!"
The more Beth uncovered the truth about the boy the more her tender heart cried out and it became her mission to rescue him. Beth also recalled the very moment she stared Brock Daniels in the face and declared, "If you don't adopt him, Brock, I will! One way or another we are going to be Cody's parents."
Beth still kept the clipped article, along with the four others the newspaper had run about Cody's plight inside a plastic sleeve in the back of a photo album. For her they were treasures.
Here it was, two years later, and Brock Daniels still had not married her. Beth never understood why his feet remained so frigid on the subject every time she brought it up to him? Perhaps, in his eyes, those sea-green pools that could melt her with one passing glance, somehow she did not measure up to his desires.
As hard as it was for her to do, three months ago Beth moved on. She left Astatula, Texas, Cody Schroder, and Brock Daniels behind as far distant memories in her fading taillights. There had to be more waiting for her somewhere out there around the next bend. She would keep looking until she found what her heart craved.
What that was Beth did not know. Not when deep down inside her, Brock Daniels and Cody Schroder were all she really ever wanted. If only?
There were those paralyzing lingering doubts again. How those ghosts haunted her! However, this time Beth wouldn't allow herself to feel that way. She was strong enough to move on to greener pastures.
Clicking the lock button on her car's fob, Beth knew she could not dwell in the past. Particularly this morning when she had the closing on the McNamara Expository Building in front of her. Rapidly, she was making a name for herself in Oklahoma.
Might have beens, and should haves, were nots. Beth scurried inside the office building where she located the nearest elevator. She was well on her way. Up, up, up! Her future in Oklahoma City was beginning to glow brightly.
Besides, there was a cute, sandy-haired, smooth-talking associate on the eleventh floor Beth was starting to feel a certain attraction for. His name was John Marbly. He was a decorated United States Army veteran. Although they had not yet exchanged any intimacies, Beth always did enjoy her men in uniform.
Back in Astatula, a few emails were all Cody had to hold on to every time he missed Beth. And, he did. A lot! He never understood why she had to leave and move so far away. Oh, she tried to explain her decision to him, but Cody still felt he was to blame for her departure. It always seemed whenever he grew close to somebody he ended up alone.
Today was no different. His Little League baseball team was scheduled to play their first game of the season. Cody knew how proud Beth would be of him for earning the second base position on the Marauders.
When Cody scanned the bleachers, he also knew Beth would not be there. Why did Oklahoma City have to be so far away? It might as well have been the North Pole! As far as he was concerned, Cody was no closer to his friend than he was to the reindeer who pulled Santa's sleigh.
Dejected, Cody slowly trotted out to second base as the Public Address Announcer introduced him in an excited voice, saying, "Make some noise for Number 13, Astatula's own Cody Schroder!"
Somehow the loud reaction of the fans' applause did not do much to improve Cody's feelings. There was still no Beth in the stands rooting for her favorite player, even though she had promised him that although she had to go away she would return for his first game.
"So, where was she?" Cody wondered to himself.
Cody would have preferred a bad excuse to no news. To him, that just meant once again another adult had lied to him. He was quickly learning adults would tell you anything. Most of what they said you simply could not believe.
He always thought Beth was somehow much better than that. He decided he was wrong. Still, he wished she was there for him, like she had always been before, watching him play. He could easily forgive her. If she would just come back home.
| Author Notes |
After leaving Astatula, Beth reminisces about what she left behind in the small town.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
The telephone rang three times in the residence before Sheriff Brock Daniels answered it's persistent annoyance. He was in the middle of writing a report about the Humphrey Jewelers robbery case. Upon retrieving the call, he was glad Cody, who was sitting next to the desk where the phone was located, did not pick up the receiver.
The voice on the other end slowly began, "Good evening, Brock. Yes, this is me! It has been eight long years but I am back! Just like I promised you I would return."
"What do you want?" Sheriff Daniels coldly demanded, obviously in no mood for this interaction.
"Don't be so callous, Brock. It does not become you," he was told, "as I stated, I am back and you know why. It was you who locked me in that hole for all that time. Now, I promise you will suffer as I have!"
Sheriff Daniels almost hung up the phone. He knew Marvin Gadsden was a violent and dangerous adversary just released from the State Pen. The threat grabbed his immediate attention and he listened further to what was being said.
"How is Cody?" he was asked. "From what I am told, he sure is a fine young man. Would hate to see something bad happen to him." A sinister laugh followed. "Perhaps he is delivering his newspapers one fine morning and never returns. Just disappears!"
It was time for Sheriff Daniels to make his point crystal clear, "You leave Cody out of this! Any harm befalls him Gadsden and it will be the biggest mistake of your life! I will hunt you down like the rabid dog you are and exterminate you!"
"My, my. A little testy, aren't we, Brock?" Sheriff Daniels was asked before Gadsden continued saying, "maybe, the real fun would be in going after Beth. So unfortunate you two have separated. However, if a certain type of "accident" was to befall her in Oklahoma City, I have no doubt you would race right to her side." A slight pause and then, "Therefore, my old friend. The real question becomes how are you going to defend Cody and Beth both at the same time when they are in far distant locations from one another? You're good, Brock. But, even you can not be in two different places at once. I want you to dwell on that, awhile. It is indeed an interesting proposition that makes my plans much easier to carry out."
The phone call ended. Daniels knew he was in a quandary with Gadsden's comments. His mind rushed back to the day be brought the convict to justice. Cody, who overheard the conversation, looked up from his ipad. He did not say a word. He did not have to.
His Dad did all the talking by telling him, "Until I say otherwise you do not answer this telephone for any reason, Son. Capice?"
"No problem, Dad," Cody replied. He knew whatever the call was about his Dad would handle it, so he returned to playing Game of Thrones. It wasn't the first time some crackpot called their house.
"I also want you to keep your smartphone with you at all times, and if you feel in harm's way at any time, you call me immediately. Do you understand that, Cody?" Sheriff Daniels asked him.
Without looking up from the screen his baby blues were focused on, Cody responded, "Absolutely. But, I'm not real worried. You'll have whoever that Gadsden dude is back behind bars in no time."
Sheriff Daniels looked at Cody. He was a bit surprised the boy shrugged the impending threat off with such nonchalance.
"Hey, after being shot by the Astatula Assassin, and kidnapped by BeeBo the killer clown, there isn't too much left that could happen to me, Dad," Cody told him, "I mean, I can't live my life in fear. Certain things come with the territory of being your son. You know, the son of the Sheriff. A life I would not trade for anything, by the way! Besides, you always take real good care of me so what do I have to worry about? I'd be more worried about Beth in Oklahoma City than I am about me in Astatula. Besides, I'm still mad at you about that one any way!"
"Beth's leaving is my fault?" Sheriff Daniels casually questioned him.
"Yep!" Cody immediately replied, saying, "As far as I am concerned it is. All of it!"
"Some times things that happen in life are unavoidable, Son, and Beth's leaving was not something either one of us planned on happening," Sheriff Daniels replied to Cody's comment.
"All you had to do was marry her, Dad, and she would still be here. That's all Beth wanted. But, noooo!" Cody began to remark. He wanted to add, "But, you couldn't do that, could you?" Then, decided he better leave that part off, at least, for now.
"I don't want to discuss the subject any further, Cody," his Dad advised him, "we've already talked about all this. What happened happened. Now it is time to move on in life."
"If Beth got hurt real bad what would you do, Dad?" Cody baited. He wanted to know the answer to his question.
Sheriff Daniels paused a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. He dialed a telephone number and had a short conversation with the receiver of that message.
"Does that answer your question, Little Man?" he asked Cody. Looking at the timepiece strapped on his wrist, he stated, "Nine o'clock. And, you have a tennis match to work tomorrow do you not?"
"Just what I figured would happen. You still have feelings for Beth, don't'cha, Dad?" Cody silently thought to himself. A touch of a slight smile creased his face before he answered the question he'd been asked with, "Yep. Sharon's starting a tournament tomorrow. So, I have matches the rest of the week."
"Sharon?" Sheriff Daniels questioned him.
"That's what she wants me to call her, Dad. Sharon," Cody responded wrapped up in his game.
"Does she allow the other Ball Fetchers to call her Sharon?" Sheriff Daniels pondered.
"Nope, only me," Cody answered him.
"Well, I'm not totally sure I like you referring to any adult by their given name, Son. I think you could be a little more respectful than that, don't you?" Sheriff Daniels asked.
"Probably," Cody responded, "perhaps Miss Montoya would be better?"
"Yes, it would be, Son," Sheriff Daniels told him, "as for now, since it is already nine o'clock, bath and bed. Let's go. Get cracking! Time's a-wasting!"
"I'm going, Dad," Cody replied placing his ipad down on the table. "Pleasant screams!" he stated as he headed off to his bedroom.
Sheriff Daniels watched the barefooted boy as he padded out of the room. His life was wrapped up in the youngster. Remembering his report, he walked back to his work desk and picked up his pen to begin writing. He knew Gadsden presented a problem that would have to be dealt with promptly.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels receives a telephone call threatening Cody and Beth.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
SETTING: Still situated at the witness stand in one of the highest profile murder cases to ever rock Brazos County, Cody continues telling the story. From high on his bench, Judge Stancil, who has always been very fond of the boy, allows him to take his time and speak whatever is on his mind. The solemn old Judge believes Cody knows much more about this case than has come out, including who the murderer is.
First, Cody looks at the Defendant, John Marbly. He is seated, leaned back in his chair. Marbly has his fingers interlocked and his hands cupped behind his head. He is still amazed that Cody has claimed he did not murder Sharon Montoya.
Next, Cody observes Beth Sorenson who has returned to Astatula in support of John Marbly. She is seated on a chair beside the defendant. Following his glance at Beth, Cody focuses his attention on Naomi, the young receptionist at The Queens. Finally, he looks at his Dad. Nothing is said between any of them.
Having read the previous chapters of this story do you know who the murderer is? The guilty person is sitting in the courtroom. Is it one of the attendees Cody has just acknowledged, or maybe another character who is yet to be identified? Perhaps it is the little blond munchkin himself? Feel free to state your response to that question in your reviews.
Shall we continue with this story now? Maybe this chapter will provide you the clues necessary to identify the real murderer.
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The epic battle between the two highest ranked players on the World Tennis Federation tour raged on for more than a grueling hour. The classic contested the Swedish Torpedo Tomas Fionnula against the Canadian Upstart Robbie Nokomis. Volley after volley, lob on lob, rained down as the participants fired hard-smashing shots at one another. Sizzling backhands were countered by blistering forehands. Neither player gained much of an advantage before the other one rallied to match their opponent's efforts.
It was one of the finest matches Cody had worked yet at The Queens. He could count the players' foot faults on one hand. There weren't many errors committed by either player. One point away from winning the match, Nokomis served three times for the fifth and final set. On each occasion, Fionnula thwarted him. A drop shot at the net finally secured the victory.
The popular and lanky redhead, Robbie Nokomis had extended his winning streak in tournaments hosted by The Queens to nine in a row. He would move on to the Quarterfinals of the double elimination event. Tomas Fionnula would find a harder route as one more loss would eliminate him from contention. The fans, loudly applauding the efforts of both players, hoped they would meet again before the competition ended.
The bright, high, afternoon Texas sun pressed down broiling hot. Perspiration created by racing to retrieve balls out of play, matted Cody's blond head. He could feel it reddening his face. Cody's responsibility was to roll the fetched balls to Jerry Maira at the wide side of the baseline. Jerry would toss them to the player serving as they were needed.
The boys worked well in tandem keeping the players stocked in tennis balls and helping the match move along. Jerry, who had worked at The Queens the previous summer, under instructions by Sharon Montoya, had taken Cody under his wing since he became a Ball Fetcher and shown him the ropes. For his part, Cody was a quick learner. He was having a blast and was glad he had persuaded his Dad to allow him to take on the position.
Additional excitement in the match occurred when a green iguana ran out on to the court. The crowd cheered loudly as Cody threw a towel over the creature's head, grabbed it by the tail, and carried the critter safely away. There would be no chicken in his stewpot tonight.
After the third set concluded, Cody cooled off on a print-patterned chaise lounger in Sharon Montoya's office. She had summoned his presence. This was the first of three matches Cody was scheduled to work that day.
Cody wondered what the President of The Queens desired of him? He'd been performing his job properly. Or, at least, he thought he had. Maybe it had something to do with placing the iguana he had captured on the court on the railing in front of the front row spectators? Perhaps someone had gotten bitten by the sunning lizard wannabe? Was it Cody's fault he liked animals?
From out of nowhere an ice cold bottle of Pepsi appeared on the table in front of him. Two soft hands massaged the tops of his warm shoulders. The velvety touch felt good.
"You like that special little attention, Cody?" Sharon Montoya affectionately smiled at him, "A boy like you deserves to be spoiled!" Those were the words Cody heard as she began gently caressing his chest.
Cody noticed she wore a cherry-red long-sleeved Jovani dress with a descending neckline. One he was certain she had not worn in quite a while. Flowing lusciously over her hips, the evening gown seemed out of place for a tennis club.
"That felt real good, Miss Montoya," Cody sheepishly admitted enjoying the massage he'd received.
"I've instructed you before to call me Sharon. So, cut out the Miss Montoya crap, Cody!" she sharply demanded.
Cody shifted his position on the lounger.
With a smile even a boy could recognize, she softened her approach, and the tone of her voice, telling him, "To you, my name is Sharon. No more formalities, okay?"
Cody grew slightly nervous. He wasn't sure what to make of Sharon Montoya, and what was beginning to feel like an uncomfortable fondness she was developing toward him. Nor did Cody realize Sharon Montoya, the notorious Black Widow of The Queens, was trying to win his trust in the most inappropriate way. He had much to learn.
"Center Court calls," Cody told her saying, "I guess I should get back to courtside."
As he left her office, Sharon Montoya purred, "There's a lot more waiting for you here at The Queens than you may envision, Cody. A whole lot more!"
With a quizzical glance, Cody slipped out of the office. He was beginning to like Sharon Montoya. He thought she was a good employer. What he didn't know was how good she was at plying her trade. Soon he would. Unable to resist Cody's charms and exuberant charisma, Sharon Montoya decided to become his mentor. Sometimes the youngest set made the tastiest treats.
| Author Notes |
Cody receives special treatment from Sharon Montoya.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
Always priding herself on her elegance, Beth stood stoically alone in the evening shadows like a bandit ready to strike. The million-dollar beauty queen looked like the cover of Cosmopolitan Magazine. Dabbing a dollop of her finest Chanel Dior perfume on her neck and wrists, Beth wanted this encounter to be special. One never to be forgotten.
Recapping the bottle the fragrance emitted from, Beth opened the clasp on her black clutch. She dropped the flask into her purse then securely reclosed the fastener. Nervously, she waited. It had been too long since Beth felt like a woman ... Sheriff Brock Daniels' woman.
Dressed in an avant-garde satin gown, one that exposed her bare left shoulder, a continuous river of questions flooded through Beth's mind as she paused on the corner of Cassandra Boulevard and Elmhurst. That was where the Pastosa Fairre Ristorante was located. Definitely no greasy spoon cafe, the Italian eatery was well known for its Triple Chocolate Tiramisu. The exquisite dessert was tantalizing, and the low-lit ambiance of the bistro created the appropriate aura for their rendezvous.
A shivery night breeze whooshed across the street as Beth stepped radiantly out of the shadows. She knew she should never have abandoned the Sheriff, or walked out on Cody who she dearly treasured, especially since they were the only ones she unceasingly wanted. Would they be able to reconcile?
Could the fractured fetters be repaired? Would Brock Daniels restore her back to where she belonged? Beth could not blame him if he didn't. Would he even be there to meet her at all, as he promised her when they spoke on the telephone that afternoon he would be?
Would Cody forgive her for deserting him? He had been through so much upheaval in his life. How she missed his mischievous ways! The last footprint Beth ever thought would be on his heart was hers. After all, she was the one who rescued him from his suffering existence of violent abuse in Palo Pinto. The bigger question remained could Beth forgive herself for all the distress she'd caused the three of them in her moment of weakness?
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of this remarkable picture. It goes so nicely with all my Cody Schroder stories. |
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