Judge Me Not by John D. MacDonald

it wasn’t you. To kids all grownups look alike, except the ones they know, so there’s no description. You’re off the hook until they figure that out.”
    When Leighton hung up, it was five minutes to five. Teed went in and told Powell that he was going out to the lake again. Powell looked disappointed. “I wanted you to go over some stuff with me tonight, Teed.”
    “I’d rather not go. But this is orders from my lawyer.”
    “Care to explain?”
    “Not quite yet Powell. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get off the hook on this car business.”
    “Tomorrow then. How about the assessment survey?”
    “I’m just no good today. I didn’t do over a tenth of it.”
    Powell shrugged and smiled. “O.K., I won’t push you.”
    Teed got into his car and drove to the hotel. He found a parking space in the middle of the next block. He felt an odd flutter of excitement that ran up his spine, tingled at the nape of his neck. He could see the sense of Rogale’s idea, but the artificiality of the situation bothered him. He was both repelled and intrigued by the idea of the coarse, cold-eyed creature who would be waiting for him.
    The cocktail lounge had a sidewalk doorway and he walked in quickly. The bar was thronged at this hour. There were six booths along the wall at the left. Four were empty. There were three men in one of the booths, a girl sitting alone in another. She was a tall girl, and her hair was brown, but nothing else matched his conception. She wore a dark-green tailored suit, a silver fox fur, a pert green hat with a veil. Her face had a look of fragility, delicacy, and breeding.
    He paused uncertainly and turned slowly toward the bar. Then, with a mental shrug, he walked quickly to the booth. “Miss Heddon?”
    Calm, deep-blue eyes and a slow smile. “How do you do. I’m Barbara Heddon.”
    He sat down awkwardly. “Teed Morrow, Miss Heddon. I’m a little late, I guess.”
    “Not very. Shall I hurry this, or do you want to order yourself a drink, Teed?”
    “I’ll have a drink, Barbara.” He signaled the waiter, ordered a stinger.
    She was completely at ease. Her brown gloves lay across the green purse that matched her suit. Beside her cocktail glass was a silver combination cigarette case and lighter. She accepted his cigarette gravely, leaned forward for the light, holding the veil out of the way of the flame. She did not touch the rest of her cocktail until his came, then lifted her glass as he did, smiling across the rim at him.
    “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Teed, I have a phone call to make.”
    “Of course.” After she walked away, into the lobby, tall and with a certain flair, a certain elegance, Teed sat down. He wondered if the long arm of coincidence had produced two Miss Heddons at the same time and the same place. Her tone of voice, her accent, matched her look of assurance and breeding.
    She was back quickly, slipping into her side of the booth as he tried awkwardly to get to his feet.
    “Another drink, Barbara?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    She looked at him with a pretty frown. “Teed, we aren’t getting acquainted, are we? We’re acting like a pair of European diplomats.”
    “Well, you took my breath away, Barbara. God knows what I expected. Certainly not you. You’re very lovely.”
    For a moment there was a slightly bitter twist to her mouth. “And you’re quite willing to be seen in public with me, I suppose.”
    “Sorry. I did sound pretty stuffy, didn’t I?”
    She smiled. “For that touch of sympathetic imagination, Mr. Morrow, I shall tell you about my phone call. I give myself an expensive luxury. It’s called selectivity. I phoned to say that I was not going to develop a headache.”
    “Now we’re both flattered.”
    “A society for mutual admiration, Teed. And thank you for not being Mr. Smith. Thank you very much for not being a Mr. Smith. Very truly yours, Barbara.”
    “Now a question. Is it a … oh, a customary thing for you to be willing to