As Time Goes By (14 page)

Willy took a sip of his scotch on the rocks. He never had a second one so he savored each drop carefully.

Alvirah on the other hand sometimes enjoyed a second glass of wine.

The evening was suddenly turning cooler. “Instead of a refill here, why don't we go inside?” she suggested.

As always, Willy agreed. When he was seated on his comfortable leather chair, Alvirah took her usual spot on the couch. Willy could see that she was intent on her own thoughts.

A few minutes passed. Willy was keeping an eye on the clock to be sure to watch the six o'clock news and catch Delaney's report on the trial.

Then just before he reached for the remote to turn on the set Alvirah said, “Willy, I got a good look at Betsy Grant. She's a lovely looking woman but I swear that there was something about her that . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What about Betsy Grant?” Willy asked.

“I don't know,” Alvirah said slowly, “but it will come to me. It always does.”

D
r. Kent Adams was the next witness. Sixty-two years old, with every strand of his thinning white hair in place, rimless glasses over mild hazel eyes, his lean frame covered with a gray pinstriped suit, he had an air of poise and confidence.

After he was sworn in, the prosecutor began. His manner was markedly less aggressive than it had been when he questioned both Carmen and Angela.

Adams testified that he was a surgeon who had been in partnership in an orthopedic practice with Dr. Edward Grant and Dr. Scott Clifton for many years.

“Dr. Adams, did there come a time when you observed certain changes in Dr. Ted Grant?”

“Unfortunately, I did. We all did.”

“What were those changes?”

“Ted had been an outstanding surgeon with a wonderful patient rapport. He was very caring toward all of his patients and he was always cordial and helpful to our office staff. But then there were changes. He started to become forgetful and then he became more and more irritable and impatient with all of us. These changes became more pronounced as the months went by.”

“What did you do?”

“Dr. Scott Clifton and I spoke with Betsy Grant and expressed our concern.”

“What was her response?”

“She was very upset, but not at us. She completely agreed that something was very wrong with Ted and we all decided to speak to him together.”

“Did you do so?”

“Yes, we did. It was very unpleasant.”

“How so?”

“I think it was a mixture of Ted resenting us for raising this issue with him but also a recognition on his part that we were telling him the truth and were very concerned for him.”

“Were you also concerned for the wellbeing of his patients?”

“Absolutely. Dr. Clifton and I knew that it had to be addressed.”

“What happened after that?”

“Ted reluctantly underwent a thorough series of tests, and the unfortunate outcome was a diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer's disease.”

“What was his participation in the practice, if any, after that?”

“He continued to come to the office on a fairly regular basis, but he did not perform surgery anymore nor was he the primary physician for any patient. As the months went on, the time he spent in the office considerably diminished.”

“Did this affect the rest of the practice?”

“Yes, it did. With Ted no longer an active participant in the practice, it was a time for reevaluation. Dr. Clifton and I had different viewpoints of how the practice should be managed. After much discussion, I decided to leave and set up my own practice. Some of Dr. Grant's patients came with me, and others remained with Dr. Clifton.”

“Approximately how long ago did you split off from the practice?”

“About seven years ago.”

“How did that work?”

“I opened a practice about a mile away, still in Fort Lee. Dr. Clifton stayed in the same location.”

“Did you continue to see Dr. Ted Grant and Betsy Grant after that?”

“Yes, I would visit them at their home.”

“Do you know if Dr. Grant continued to stop in at the original practice where Dr. Clifton had remained?”

“Betsy Grant told me that she still would bring him in to Dr. Clifton's office about once every six weeks. He enjoyed chatting with the staff and just being in his old surroundings.”

“Dr. Adams, I'm now asking you to direct your attention to March 21st of last year, the evening before Dr. Grant was found dead. Where were you on that evening?”

“Well, Dr. Grant's wife, Betsy, had decided to have a birthday party for him that night. My wife and I were invited.”

The prosecutor's following questions elicited the same information that prior witnesses had offered, including the two occasions when Dr. Grant had become extremely upset. Dr. Adams did recall that when Ted Grant had been angrily pointing at everyone during cocktails, he had been shouting something that he believed was the word “find.”

When asked about Dr. Grant slapping Betsy that evening, he replied that Betsy Grant had been sobbing when she said, “I can't take it anymore.” He added that it was his perception that when Ted Grant lunged across the table, he had been trying to attack Lisa Clifton.

“Dr. Adams, I have just a couple more questions about that evening. Where was Angela Watts seated at the dinner table?”

“It was a round table. Angela Watts was seated to the right of Ted. His son was seated on his left.”

“Where was Mrs. Betsy Grant seated?”

“Next to Angela on her left and to me on her right.”

“Thank you, Doctor, I have no further questions.”

I can see what he's driving at, Delaney thought. Betsy could have slipped something into Angela Watts' drink to make her sick. But if she were planning to kill her husband, why would she have invited people to dinner that night? But maybe the prosecutor is right. Maybe getting assaulted really did, finally, push her over the edge.

Robert Maynard then stood up. “Your Honor, I have just a few questions. Dr. Adams, would you say that Betsy Grant was always trying to do something to make Ted happy?”

“Yes.”

“As his health began to steadily decline, would you please describe how she took care of him?”

“She was always concerned and always devoted to him. She was heartbroken by his illness, particularly because for a long time he realized that he was failing. He had been a wonderful husband and an outstanding doctor. But eventually he became completely dependent on Betsy and his caregiver.”

“You have testified that when you were at the dinner party that evening, he assaulted her and that she stated ‘I can't take it anymore.' Did you ever hear her threaten to hurt him in any way?”

“Absolutely not.”

“How did you regard her comment that night?”

“I was so sorry for her. She just seemed weary. She had just been hit very hard. I think she said what anyone would have said under those circumstances.”

Prosecutor Holmes grimaced as Robert Maynard said, “No further questions.”

Dr. Scott Clifton was the next witness. His testimony was virtually identical to that of Dr. Kent Adams but it was clear that he was much more reserved and less empathetic in his tone and in his demeanor when he spoke about Betsy. He also stated that he had been very focused on Ted Grant and getting him calmed down and had not taken any notice of the mortar and pestle set. He could not say whether the pestle had been there or not.

When Dr. Clifton was finished, the judge released the jurors until the following Tuesday morning.

A
lvirah continued on her determined hunt to trace Delaney's birth mother. “Step two,” she told Willy as they drove to Oyster Bay on the North Shore of Long Island. “I want to get a good look at the house where Delaney was raised,” she said, speaking over the voice of the navigation system.

“That was ‘turn right in five hundred feet.' ” Willy hoped he was right, as he tried to concentrate on directions in the unfamiliar area.

He made the turn and could see the map depicting a straight line for at least a mile even as the mechanical voice said, “One mile to right turn.”

“I mean this is a lovely area,” Alvirah said admiringly. “Remember years ago I was offered a Monday-to-Friday cleaning job in a house in Oyster Bay, but it was too inconvenient to get there without a car and you needed our car to get around to your jobs.”

“I remember, honey,” Willy confirmed. “In those days I never would have believed that we would ever win the lottery.”

“Neither would I,” Alvirah sighed as she visualized her days as a cleaning woman, vacuuming and dusting and dragging heavy sheets and towels down the stairs to basement laundry rooms.

The last turn was to Shady Nook Lane. It was a dead end street with homes on an acre or more of property. The trees were still rich with leaves, and azaleas and chrysanthemums lined the driveways. Several of the houses were handsome brick-and-stucco Tudors, others very large manor-type dwellings with front porches.

Willy had been watching the mailboxes for numbers. “It's this one,” he said as he slowed down and stopped in front of a long two-story residence.

“That house reminds me of Mount Vernon,” Alvirah said approvingly. Then she added, “You can tell it's not occupied because there are no curtains. But Delaney told me that it was just sold, so I guess the new people will be moving in soon.”

“I would guess that Delaney was lucky to be adopted by people like the Wrights,” Willy observed. “With that kind of private adoption it was hit or miss as to the kind of parents she was given.”

“I agree, and now let's go talk to Delaney's old nanny. We're lucky that she still lives on the Island.”

Thirty minutes later they were parking in front of a ranch-style house in Levittown, a community built after World War II for returning veterans.

Bridget O'Keefe, Delaney's former nanny, opened the door herself. A vigorous-looking seventy-eight-year-old with a pear shape and short white hair, she greeted them with hearty warmth and invited them into her living room, where a tray with cups and a plate of cookies was on the coffee table. “It's always nice to have a cup of tea,” she announced. “You settle yourselves and I'll be right back.”

She disappeared into the kitchen.

“No wonder Delaney liked her so much,” Willy whispered.

Bridget returned a few minutes later carrying a teapot with steam wafting from the spigot. “I don't have any use for those teabags,” she announced, “and when you make real tea you can always read your fortune in the leaves.”

When she had poured the tea and passed the creamer, sugar and cookies, she went directly to the point. “You are trying to trace Delaney's birth mother.” It was not a question but a statement.

“That's right,” Alvirah confirmed. “We did manage to find a woman who lived next to the midwife but she has no idea where she is now.” Deliberately she did not mention that the midwife was selling the babies she had delivered.

“I started working for the Wrights the day they brought Delaney home,” she said. “You couldn't have seen a more beautiful newborn. Most of them aren't that attractive until they fill out but she was beautiful with those gorgeous brown eyes and ivory skin.”

“What did they tell you about her background?”

“Mrs. Wright's friend, Victoria Carney, who had arranged the adoption, had told Mrs. Wright that the mother was very young and that she was of Irish descent on both sides of the family.”

“You never knew more than that about her real mother?”

“Never. I don't think the Wrights knew more than that either. But from the time she was three years old and knew she had been adopted, Delaney started daydreaming about her mother.”

“Yes, that's pretty much what she told us,” Alvirah said. “What about the friend who helped arrange the adoption?”

“Victoria Carney was a very nice lady. She died when Delaney was ten years old. I know the Wrights felt terrible about that.”