He phoned Scott. “Want to meet for lunch? I have to check on a few things not far from your office.”
“Sure you wouldn’t rather be lunching with Heather?”
“If that were the case, friend, I would have called her.”
“Meet you at The Crab Shack.”
They reached The Crab Shack at almost the same time, and sat at their favorite table. “Your usual, gentlemen?” the waiter asked.
“Right,” they said in unison.
“We have a president who’s pushing education,” Judson said to Scott. “I’m planning to start a boys’ study group. And instead of sports, the focus will be academics. Why don’t you start a girls’ group, and we can have competitions that will keep them focused and interested?”
“Me start a girls’ group? Why don’t you rope Heather into it?”
“I don’t want to involve her in this. You get a boys’ group, then. It won’t work unless they have competition.”
“Okay. You do South Baltimore, and I’ll form one in the Reisterstown area,” Scott decided. “Have you made any further progress on your mother’s estate?”
Judson shook his head. “I’ve had too many distractions. I’m going to look into it again tonight, see what I can find. You’d think my parents would have told me or at least left me some explanation. Suppose I need a bone-marrow transplant. Where would I turn?”
“You won’t, and don’t worry. You’ll find what you’re looking for. They didn’t destroy papers that they could some day need.”
“I sure hope you’re right.”
“This isn’t good,” Heather said to herself when she awakened that morning. It isn’t cold, so why do I feel chilly? She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Maybe if she drank some coffee, she could pull herself together. She managed to make the coffee, but took a cupful back to her bedroom, put the cup on her nightstand and crawled back into bed. She didn’t get sick. Never. So what was wrong with her?
She couldn’t afford to get sick. She had to take care of her father and be ready for a permanent diplomatic post. If she wasn’t up to it, someone else might get the assignment.
She fell asleep lying across the bed and awakened at a quarter of ten with a full-blown cold. After admitting to herself that she really was sick she phoned Scott. “Hi, this is Heather. I’m home, and I’m feeling rotten.”
“You’ve got a cold. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Looks like it. Could you please ask my secretary to print out that report I was working on and leave it with my doorman when you leave work this afternoon?”
“Sure. But why would you try to work? You’re sick.”
“I know, but it’s due the day after tomorrow, and this is not a good time to start coming up short.”
“All right. I’ll deliver it. Do you have any food—juice, soup or something—for your cold in the house?”
“Scott, you’re such a darling. Why didn’t you and I fall in love? I need some milk, grapefruit juice and eggs. I have coffee and tea.”
“You got it. You and I would never fall in love because both of us need the same thing—someone who’s laid-back. Two type-A personalities would kill each other. Now, take Judson—”
“All right. I got the message,” she said sleepily.
“Go to sleep. See you later.” He hung up, and she managed to do the same. She knew she should eat, but she didn’t have the strength to cook.
The intercom buzzed, awakening her. “Hello.”
“Ms. Tatum. A man is here with some things for you. Shall I send him up?’
“Thanks,” she said and dosed off again.
“Philips speaking.”
“This is Curtis Heywood.”
“Yes. I’ve been expecting your call.”
“I believe I have a good lawsuit against a medical diagnostic group, and I’d like you to take the case.”
Judson listened while Curtis described the complaint. “Have you omitted anything that you might have done that could weaken your case? I need to know that up front.”
“I’m certain that I’m not at fault in any way.”
It sounded like a good case, but he wouldn’t be certain until he dug into it himself. “Can you be here tomorrow morning at nine and bring your papers and any evidence?”
“I’ll be there. Thanks for your time.”
“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.”
Judson hung up, saw the caller ID on his private line and lifted the receiver, smiling at the sound of his friend’s voice. “What’s up, Scott?”
“I need you to do me a favor—and hear me out before you get your back up. I promised Heather that I’d bring a report and some groceries to her today after work because she’s sick at home. The thing is I can’t, because I have to stay in D.C. and deal with an issue that just came in. Working in D.C. and living in Baltimore has advantages, but right now, friend, it’s a disadvantage. As a favor would you please take the report and the care package to her on your way home? You can leave it with her doorman, if you don’t want to see her.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Maybe a cold. She sounded really sick.”
Judson wondered if it was one of Scott’s tricks to try to get him to see Heather. “If she’s sick, and you can’t go, of course I’ll do it. But if I find out that you’re up to your old shenanigans—”
“Judson, if you’d rather not, I’ll see if I can get somebody else to do it.”
“I’ll be at your office for that report around four o’clock. Did she say what she needs?”
“She said bread, milk, grapefruit juice and maybe some eggs. I guess she hasn’t had time to do any shopping since she got back.”
“Maybe. See you at four.” There was something special about Heather Tatum, and he wanted to know what it was.
Later, he stopped by Scott’s office at the State Department in D.C., collected the report and headed up I-95. Once in Baltimore, he went to a supermarket, where he bought bread, milk, eggs, grapefruit juice and butter. On an whim, he parked at a specialty restaurant on Calvert Street and bought a large container of chicken soup. If she’s got a cold, maybe I ought to get something for that, he thought to himself. He stopped at a drugstore and bought some over-the-counter cold medicine.
“I have some things to deliver to Ms. Tatum,” Judson announced to the doorman, careful not to identify himself. The doorman rang Heather’s apartment.
“There’s a man here to deliver some things to you. Shall I send him up?” He looked at Judson. “She said you can go up. Apartment 34–F.”
Relief spread over his face when she hadn’t asked who it was. He got off the elevator at the thirty-fourth floor, turned in the direction of apartment F, rang the doorbell and waited.
The door opened, and she stared up at him, blinking so that she could be certain to trust her eyes. “Judson? What—”
From her appearance, she’d just crawled out of bed,