Nursery Stage

By Bill Wertz

As a young child and adolescent, Marie Deveaux had endured much hardship. Bounced between foster families, she had been the subject of emotional and physical abuse. She managed to persevere and overcome her challenges, and today, she sits atop the world of fashion design. Her award-winning designs for celebrities and royalty have brought her fame and untold financial success.

Seeing an opportunity to use her influence and wealth to help others, Marie embarks on a mission to help young women who have lost their way regain their lives. She’s hailed as a selfless philanthropist. However, she holds a dark secret that serves as the true motivation for her philanthropy. Her greed and need for settling a score take her down a ruthless path.

Two young women participating in Marie’s recovery program become suspicious and suspect illegal activity as they compare notes during their stay at the posh recovery facility. There are too many coincidences that can’t be explained away. They seek out the help of news reporter Darla Bissett, the aunt of one of the young women. She smells a story that puts her life in peril as she pursues her investigation.

An unlikely introduction to a friend of a friend sets the stage for the unraveling of Marie’s plans. A strong bond develops between Marie and her new friend, eventually leading to a business relationship with her dark empire. Discovering the staggering depth of the evil, the friend finds herself trapped and searches for a way out.

Caught off guard by a call from the government, Marie senses a deception in the making. A battle of wits will determine who survives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662453939

Book preview

Chapter 1

Chicago, 1978

Going into the office was the part of Brian’s job he hated the most. Besides having to fight the traffic from his north suburban home and into downtown Chicago, he despised the smell of the stale cigarette smoke that hung throughout the office. It struck you the moment you walked through the door. In fact, as he thought about it, you could smell it the minute you stepped off the elevator to his employer’s eighth-floor office.

He had hated the smell of cigarette smoke as far back as he could remember. His parents had both been heavy smokers. He never knew what it was like to have fresh-smelling clothes, to go to sleep at night with fresh-smelling sheets, or to drive with his parents in the car without having to lie across the floor in the back seat to escape the toxic cloud.

Smoking took his parents’ lives at relatively young ages. First his father at sixty-three, followed by his mother only two years later. Brian was an only child, and the loss of both parents by the time he was barely thirty had left its mark.

Yes, he really hated the smell of smoke.

The second-worst part of his job was filling out expense reports. This was the bane of all salesmen, and Brian was no exception. Endless receipts from countless meals, mostly at lousy restaurants on the road. Sure, there were occasional client dinners at nice places, but they were the exception, mostly because they required prior approval.

His boss was frugal, to say the least, and expensive dinners weren’t usually in his vocabulary. After all, they weren’t selling multimillion-dollar contracts to high-rolling Wall Street types. They sold janitorial supplies, lots of them to lots of companies.

Although selling cases of industrial cleaners and paper towels wasn’t glamorous, his company had a large market presence, and he was paid well. He was paid well because he was good at what he did. So good, in fact, that he had recently been awarded a sales-incentive trip to Napa Valley. He had worked hard to earn it, but he had to admit that having a sales territory that included Chicago and southern Wisconsin didn’t hurt.

He felt sorry for the poor guy who had to cover Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It would have been a disappointment if he hadn’t won. His wife would have been even more disappointed. Neither of them had ever been to Napa, and it was a bucket list item for her. With them having a five-year-old and a one-year-old at home, it would be a welcome vacation for both Susan and him.

As he entered the office, the receptionist greeted him with a smile. She was trim and rather attractive, with short blond hair fashioned in a wedge style. Dorothy Hamill, the 1976 Olympic figure skating champion, had begun wearing her hair in a wedge cut, and now it was the trend. Although she was in her forties, she still turned heads with her usual tight sweaters and above-the-knee skirts. Her desk included a large phone console, pictures of her children, a couple of small plants, and, of course, a cigarette burning in an ashtray.

Nice of you to show up at world headquarters once in a while, Brian she offered.

They both chuckled at the inside joke. There was only one corporate office, and he was standing in it. They had four warehouses throughout the Midwest, and employees at those locations referred to the corporate office as world HQ.

Some world HQ, he thought, as he walked through the smoky haze to his unadorned cubicle. Since he was here as infrequently as possible, he made no attempt to accessorize his cube other than to have an eight-by-ten framed family photo on his desk.

His vinyl-covered swivel chair squeaked loudly as he sat down and pushed back. It was Friday, and the office was quiet. The quietness suited him just fine. It meant fewer interruptions to get in his way of tackling the dreaded expense reports.

He gazed at the family portrait and reflected for a moment on how lucky he was to have Susan, Anna, and Tommy in his life. He and Susan had met while his mother was in hospice care. Although their paths were different, they both found themselves dealing with a sole-surviving parent’s final stages of life. Her mother had been diagnosed with lymphoma two years earlier. Her father had suffered a fatal heart attack only six months into her mother’s treatment.

She too was an only child, and she and Brian found comfort in each other’s company as they helped their mothers through their final weeks.

Brian’s mother was the first to pass. He couldn’t have imagined dealing with that without Susan. And he was her support when her mother passed later that year. They had become each other’s soul mates and gotten married only two months later.

He broke his gaze and sat forward in his creaking chair. For now, his focus needed to be on submitting his expense reports so he could head home for the weekend and prepare for next week’s trip to Napa.

Shortly after 3:00 p.m., he stapled the last of the receipts to the expense-reimbursement form, scratched his signature across the bottom, and pulled out his yellow carbon copy. With meals, a couple of hotels, and the standard mileage rate, he was looking at just over $400 in reimbursements.

Hopefully, this will cover the wine Susan will undoubtedly want to buy in Napa, he mused.

As he closed his briefcase and snapped the locking tabs, he glanced at the portrait again. He loved Anna and Tommy deeply, but he was looking forward to some Susan-and-Brian time. They had decided to start their family after only being married a year. Anna was now five, and Tommy was one.

They hadn’t really allowed themselves much time to focus on themselves. At thirty-one and thirty-two years old, respectively, when married, it seemed prudent to begin a family quickly. As only-children themselves, they had both agreed they wanted their children to have siblings. At Susan’s advanced old age of thirty-two, there was no time to waste.

As the firstborn, Anna received hours and hours of home-movie recording time. Everything was the first everything. First poop, first smile, first word, first step, first birthday—all were recorded in careful detail, resulting in hours and hours of 8 mm film footage.

And then there was the sanitary care that surrounded Anna. If a jar of Gerber’s squash or pears had been opened more than an hour and sat at room temperature, it was certainly contaminated and was immediately thrown out.

In Tommy’s case, there was a short recording of Anna greeting him when Susan brought him home from the hospital for the first time, but otherwise an absence of drawn-out recordings of first of everythings. And eating some leftover McDonald’s french fries that had been left out for two hours wouldn’t kill him. Brian and Susan laughed to think about the liberties in their third child’s future someday.

He exited Interstate 94 and headed east on Deerfield Road. They had settled on the community of Deerfield shortly after Anna was born. The median income of the residents fit Brian’s style, and the place had virtually no crime. It had encountered some diversity struggles earlier, but things seemed to have calmed down.

All in all, it was a nice community for raising a family. Plus, it was the home of Sara Lee Corporation’s bakery division. Living near the world’s largest bakery was a fun fact Brian always liked to point out to new acquaintances.

It was also a convenient location for Brian in terms of his daily work routine. He was generally able to avoid the traffic gridlock associated with the Chicago freeway system, by planning his customer calls to the north or west in the mornings to avoid the daily commuter traffic into downtown. On the rare days he needed to go into the office, the drive was only twenty-five miles.

Susan and Anna greeted Brian with a hug. Susan asked about his day. He knew she was curious about the amount of expense reimbursement that would hit his next payroll check, and he teasingly avoided the topic or glossed over her inquiries.

He noticed some shopping bags from Marshall Fields on the dining room table, and knew her curiosity was killing her.

Today got out of hand, and I wasn’t able to get my expenses turned in, he said in an apologetic tone.

Then he alternated his gaze between her eyes and the shopping bags several times until he couldn’t keep a straight face.

Gotcha! He laughed. We’re getting about four hundred dollars back, and I’m guessing those Marshall Fields bags represent most of that.

They shared a good laugh and opened a bottle of wine. Although today was only Friday and their trip didn’t start until Monday, vacation was officially underway.

After dinner, they watched an episode of Mork & Mindy, then tucked the kids in for the night over Anna’s vehement objections. Monday morning’s early flight to San Francisco would be here quickly, but there would be plenty of time for TV and playtime before then.

Chapter 2

The wheels of the Boeing 727 touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare field the following Sunday, with a brief skreetch and poof of smoke. The week in Napa had gone quickly, but the trip had been amazing. Brian and Susan had both underestimated the number of vineyards they would visit and the volume of samples they would try. Thankfully, Brian had listened to one of his coworkers and arranged for a driver to shuttle them among the multiple stops.

After a week of wine, incredible dining, and beautiful scenery, they were refreshed and ready to return home. Anna and Tommy had been in the care of Karen Schmidt while they were gone. Karen—or Miss Karen, as Anna called her—was their go-to sitter for date nights or short overnights. She was about fifty, they guessed. She lived in Deerfield as well and had come highly recommended by neighbors when they moved into their house.

Apparently widowed by her husband’s premature death, she had never remarried and had no children of her own. A small pension and some life insurance proceeds from her husband had allowed her to continue living in her small but comfortable house.

While she was appreciative of the money from babysitting, she also appreciated the opportunity to stay in a beautiful home with a large yard. It was much easier staying with the children in their own home for their sakes as well.

Brian and Susan knew the children were in good hands with Miss Karen, but they missed them, and it would be good to get home. Tomorrow was Labor Day, so they would have a full day to unwind and recover and spend time with the kids.

*****

At Soldier Field, the Chicago Bears had just opened their season with a 17–10 win against the St. Louis Cardinals. This could be the year.

At least that’s what Paul Grant and his buddies thought. Paul—or Big G, as he was known since his high school days—was the organizer of the annual home-opener tailgate party.

Although they had all been out of high school for ten years, Big G and his four classmates remained best friends. Not that the season opener was the only tailgate party they threw during the year; it was just the best one. And this one was no exception.

Last season’s loss to Dallas in the divisional playoffs was painful, but they were sure this would be the year. How could you lose with Walter Payton? The hangovers from last night had vanished with the first six pack. Big G’s Chevy Suburban had been dutifully loaded with cases of Pabst and a bottle of Southern Comfort, most of which was gone before kickoff. The eight-track blared Queen’s hit We Will Rock You, as the Chevy left Soldier Field in victory. This could even be the year they win it all.

*****

Automatic lanes or manual lanes—this was always the choice one had to face when approaching the tollbooths. Automatic lanes sounded faster just because of their name. Manual lanes sounded slower because of the necessity for human interaction. In truth, the manual lanes were often faster.

Brian eyed the approaching situation and opted for the automatic lanes. This was the last toll before their exit, and it generally went pretty quickly. Traffic had been light on the drive from O’Hare since it was Sunday evening.

There was only one car in front of them now, so Susan handed Brian the twenty-five-cent toll. He had often wondered how many quarters got deposited into the toll system each day. As the car in front of them moved ahead, Brian stretched his arm out and tossed the coin into the basket. The light turned green, and the gate arm began to lift.

*****

The police report would later say that Big G never even hit the brakes as the Suburban plowed into the back of Brian and Susan’s car at sixty miles per hour, killing them both instantly. The carnage was so complete, there was even some speculation about whether Big G was actually the driver—not that it really mattered. There would be no testimony from him or the front-seat passenger. Both were killed as well.

The back seat passengers didn’t remember leaving the last bar. Inside the crushed hulk of the Suburban were dozens of empty beer cans and flip-tops.

At Brian and Susan’s house, Miss Karen had put Tommy in his crib and was now tucking Anna in for the night.

Their flight must have been delayed, she explained.

Anna drifted off to sleep, anxious for morning to arrive.

Chapter 3

Time to wake up and get ready for school, sweetheart, a voice softly said.

Anna opened her eyes, rubbed out the sleep, and looked around at her still-unfamiliar surroundings.

It had been almost three months to the day since that terrible morning she awoke to find Miss Karen holding Tommy and sobbing in their kitchen. She still struggled to grasp that she would never be seeing her parents again.

The funeral was a confusing blur. Miss Karen and dozens of neighbors were there. She recalled that they said nice things to her, but all looked so sad. The women were crying, and there was a lot of whispering among them.

And then two odd-looking black station wagons took her parents away. Miss Karen took them home while Anna heard others talking about some sort of lunch.

*****

Julie Wilkerson now had the task of waking Anna to prepare for kindergarten each morning. She and her husband, Rob, lived in their neighborhood and had been friends of Brian and Susan. They had agreed to care for Anna and Tommy while family services searched for a permanent placement solution.

Brian had been a prudent person in nearly all aspects of his life with one major exception: he had failed to plan for the unthinkable simultaneous-death scenario. In the absence of a legal document and predetermined custodians, the decision regarding his children’s care was now in the hands of strangers.

The Wilkersons were in their late twenties and had not yet started a family. Julie worked part-time as a bank teller, and Rob was a finance manager at nearby Sara Lee. They had been working hard to save and gain some financial stability before having children.

Caring for Anna and Tommy was something they felt they needed to do, but it wasn’t sustainable. Family services assured them a suitable family would be located quickly and that both children could remain together. In the meantime, it was Julie who held Anna’s hand on the way to the bus stop each morning. Susan would have wanted that.

With less than a month before Christmas, Julie and Rob assumed there would not be placement action until after the holidays. Having children around for Christmas would be nice.

The phone rang, and Julie answered while struggling to unwind the long telephone cord at the same time. Hello? Oh yes, Mrs. Gosk, we were told you’d be calling. This afternoon? Sure, I guess that will work. I’ll make sure Rob runs home from work. See you at three o’clock.

She hung up and called Rob to let him know that Helen Gosk from the private adoption agency had called and would be there at 3:00 p.m.

My, that was quick, Julie thought.

Family services had just contacted them two days ago about making a referral to a private adoption agency.

Everything about Helen Gosk was unlikeable, from her humorless personality to her hard looks. She was in her midfifties but looked ten years older. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore no makeup. Two packs of smokes a day left deep telltale facial wrinkles. Whatever one’s image of an old maid was, Helen Gosk was it.

Rob and Julie greeted her at the door promptly at 3:00 p.m. They sat for coffee and made small talk about the weather and Christmas coming so quickly.

Julie commented on their surprise at the quick response after the referral from family services.

We didn’t expect to hear from you so soon, what with the holiday season and all. But as you know, Rob and I can only do this temporarily, she said.

Well, we take these cases very seriously, Mrs. Wilkerson. Christmas can be a difficult time for children in transition, she replied. We like to process them quickly.

"Process them? Sounds like you’re talking about the frosted doughnuts we make at work," said Rob.

I don’t mean to sound harsh, Mr. Wilkerson, but there are families who have been trying to adopt for months through normal channels. When they make the decision to work through my private adoption agency, they expect fast results. That’s what they’re paying for. These people are committed to taking children permanently, not just temporarily as a favor.

Rob struggled to control his anger. Who in the hell does she think she is?

Julie sensed his anger and stepped in to bring emotions under control. Yes, it felt like Helen Gosk had just taken a cheap shot, but they all knew this arrangement was, in fact, temporary and needed a conclusion that was in Anna and Tommy’s best interest. They didn’t like this woman, but they had to deal with her.

And Helen Gosk didn’t like them. In fact, she despised people like them. Pretty little couple in their pretty little suburban home that Mommy and Daddy probably gave them the down payment for. They had no clue what the real world was like. It was people like her, Helen Gosk, who created commerce and made things happen. People like the Wilkersons bogged down her business by asking too many questions. She had paying customers in line, and she needed more product to deliver.

The rest of the conversation was tense and awkward. Julie and Rob would of course be as cooperative as possible, with the assurance from Helen Gosk that she would minimize disruption to the children. Speaking of the children, she would now need to meet them, please.

Julie called to Anna while Rob headed upstairs for Tommy.

Today was a big day at the Wilkerson house. Proud sister Anna told Mrs. Gosk how she had encouraged Tommy into taking his first steps. Julie had captured the moment on her Polaroid camera for someone someday. Mrs. Gosk nodded an acknowledgment with an insincere smile.

*****

Anna had learned that when she was told to stay upstairs while the adults talked, it meant it was time to eavesdrop. She could tell Aunt Julie and Uncle Rob didn’t like this person. Their voices sounded different.

Through the staircase spindles, she had a clear view of the woman whom she was told was coming to help them find a nice family. Her looks and hoarse voice frightened Anna.

When Mrs. Gosk greeted her, Anna noticed her hands were ice cold. And she paid little to no attention to Tommy, other than to glance him over in what looked like a brief inspection.

When asked if she had questions for Anna, Helen said no. When offered the chance to hold Tommy for a minute, she declined.

Anna hoped this lady would just go away so they could stay with Aunt Julie and Uncle Rob.

They parted ways shortly before 4:00 p.m., and Anna watched out the window as the woman drove off in her car. She looked at Aunt Julie and Uncle Rob and thought they looked unhappy. They didn’t have their usual smiles on their faces.

*****

While it was uncharacteristic for Helen Gosk to smile, she did so all the way back to her office. This was the break she had needed. Demand for her services was high before the holidays, and supply was low.

She arrived at her dingy office and settled at her desk. She picked up the phone receiver and dialed a number. When the voice on the other end answered, all Helen Gosk said was, Bingo.

Chapter 4

December days in Chicago were cold and short on daylight. It seemed like the middle of the night when the clock radio came on at 6:30 a.m. on David Allen’s nightstand. It had been a restless night, so it was a relief when 6:30 a.m. finally arrived.

He reached over to nudge his wife, Becky, only to find her side of the bed empty. Her night had been restless too, so she had slipped out of bed early to start the coffee.

This wasn’t their normal waking hour, but today’s appointment had dictated an early start. David was an actuary for an insurance company downtown. Guessing when people would die didn’t require strict hours. The hours could be long, but they afforded him a fair amount of flexibility. He had been with the company since joining immediately after college graduation twelve years earlier. He was now thirty-four, and considered to be on an executive track.

Becky had coffee ready for both of them when David entered the kitchen.

Looks like you had the same night’s sleep I did, she said.

Yeah, I’m beat. I tossed and turned all night, he replied.

Becky was tall, almost six feet, and had long blond hair. David was six feet four and trim, with a thick head of brown hair and stylish glasses. On their frequent evenings out, they were a striking couple.

But this morning, they looked haggard. Months of anxiety over countless doctor visits and tests were taking their toll. This morning’s eight o’clock appointment promised to bring some answers. They had requested the first appointment of the morning, hoping to avoid as many patients in the waiting room as possible. The more patients in the waiting area, the more questions to field. If they had any answers, the questions might not have been as annoying.

They entered the office of Northshore Medical Specialists shortly before 8:00 a.m. and were relieved to see only two other patients in the reception area. They nodded politely at one another but avoided any conversation.

Becky recognized them as a couple they had seen at a previous visit. Becky felt as though she was physically trembling and was certain the other couple was staring. David squeezed her hand to comfort her.

The door next to the reception desk opened, and a nurse appeared.

Mr. and Mrs. Allen, please follow me.

This time, as they walked through the door, they walked past the examination rooms and straight back to the office of Dr. Samuel Fergus. His office was lined in dark wood paneling, which fit well with his large mahogany desk. His various professional credentials hung in frames in a vertical row on one wall. David noticed the last one was a bit off level. He had an eye for things like that.

Dr. Fergus himself was about sixty years old and sported a beard that was salt and pepper in color, with salt beginning to win the race. The beard was an attempt to distract one’s eye from his receding hairline. He and his three partners were considered among the best specialists in their field.

When David’s superiors had heard of his problem, the CEO himself had made some calls to connect them with Dr. Fergus. David and Becky had liked him right away. He was optimistic but honest. David and Becky appreciated that.

This was the first appointment of the morning, and Sam Fergus sat behind his desk in a sport coat and tie instead of his typical white clinical coat. His desk contained several folders and papers, but the Allens’ file was obviously directly in front of him. David couldn’t help noticing how it had grown in thickness