“Oh, for crying out loud.”
“Just pull over, Maggie. We’ll flirt our way out of a ticket.”
Maggie fried her with a look as she eased to the side of the road. “Right. Because we’re eighteen and have boobs and not…Depends.”
A minute later, a young man—okay, he might be fifty-five, but that was young to Maggie—with bulging biceps and an intimidating green sheriff’s uniform ambled up to her window. Maggie refused to roll it down more than a crack.
“Evening, ma’am.”
“Hello.” She swallowed and looked way up at him. “Officer.”
“You know what the word erratic means?”
“I do and I can spell it. What’s your point?”
His dark eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and impatience. “My point is when I see someone drive like you, I think…hmmm. Erratic. What has that driver been drinking?”
“Excuse me?” Her voice rose in disbelief. “I’ve had water and lukewarm diet something in a can. It was disgusting and so is your insinuation.”
“Can you lower your window all the way?”
She narrowed her eyes in distaste and patted the arm rest and door. Where the heck was the button?
“Ma’am?” He inched closer. “It’s a crank. Right there.”
“Of course. I knew that.”
“New car?”
“It’s not mine.”
“Did you steal it?”
She sucked in a breath. “How dare you! I’m taking it home to my friend who is dying of cancer, thank you very much. Dying! My dear friend!”
Jo Ellen put a hand on her arm. “Calm down, Maggie. Just open the window for him. You’re tired and you have nothing to hide.”
As she turned the blasted crank, the deputy dipped down and looked at Jo Ellen. “Who are you and what are you two ladies doing out here tonight?”
“I’m Jo Ellen.” She stuck her hand out, right in front of Maggie’s face like she was at a garden party making friends. He ignored it. “We drove up from South Florida, but we’re staying in Destin. I’m from Ithaca. That’s in New York.”
“He doesn’t need your life story,” Maggie ground out, exhaustion and irritation going to war in her body. “Just shut up and he’ll let us go.”
“Ma’am.” He shifted his gaze to Maggie. “I need your license and registration.”
“Okay, okay. I have a license, but, oh, sweet heavens”—she whipped around to Jo Ellen—“where’s all that paperwork?”
Panic crawled up Maggie’s chest. This car was in Frank’s name! He’d sent a picture of his driver’s license, and the dealer had explained all that gobbledygook about submitting the paperwork to the DMV and gave them a temporary tag and…
Oh, no! He would think she stole this car!
Jo Ellen was elbow deep in the glovebox. “There’s a bill of sale somewhere, and a temporary registration, and”—she pulled out a pack of papers that looked like a legal brief for the Supreme Court—“a lot of other stuff.” Bending down, she smiled at the deputy. “Are you sure you want to go through all this?”
“License?” he said to Maggie, all niceties gone.
“All right, all right.” She turned to get her handbag and pull out her wallet, producing her Georgia license and handing it to him.
He shined his flashlight on it, glanced at Maggie, then back at the license. “This expired two months ago on your…seventy-eighth birthday.”
