Page 42 of The Summer We Kept Secrets (The Destin Diaries #4)

“ I know you want to get back, Mags, but we’re coming up on ten hours in the car.” Jo Ellen re-situated herself in the low-slung seat next to Maggie, wrapped in a cardigan she’d “borrowed” days ago and apparently was never giving up.

“I can read the clock, Jo. You know I have to be there when Atlas’s grandparents arrive tomorrow morning. I need to stake my claim and make those people tremble in fear of me.”

Ever since Eli had texted earlier today to suggest Maggie cut her visit short since those Danes people were coming to Destin, Maggie couldn’t settle down.

Jo Ellen, bless her heart, had agreed that they should abandon West Palm Beach, where they’d been lollygagging like the rich and famous, and drive straight through to Destin to make it home by nightfall.

But they hadn’t counted on an accident that practically shut down the turnpike and had them sitting in a line of traffic ten miles long for more than two hours. That turned an already grueling eight-hour drive into…a nightmare.

Now it was ten o’clock on Friday night and she was not in her jammies sipping Sleepytime tea and judging other people’s bad decisions on House Hunters . Instead, she was pedal-to-the-metal in the dark on Interstate 10, driving a manual transmission sports car that obeyed her every command.

For the most part, the experience had been heady. But there were some moments that had been…hairy. Like that truck she nearly went under instead of around. Still, all in all, the scaredy-cat driver had become a road warrior, high on her own success.

“We can still stop and sleep somewhere and get up early to make it to Destin before they arrive,” Jo Ellen said, her voice taut with the same exhaustion that pressed on Maggie.

“We’re not giving up now! We’re half an hour from 331, the exit to Santa Rosa Beach.”

“We’re going to pull into Frank and Betty’s after eleven,” Jo Ellen reminded her. “Do you know any eighty-year-old awake at midnight?”

“Frank said it was fine, he’d distract Betty, and we could just leave the car parked in the driveway and he’d surprise her tomorrow morning.”

“And you think we can get an Uber in Santa Rosa Beach at that hour?”

“I think we can do anything,” Maggie shot back. “And that includes sneaking into our apartment like a couple of wayward teenagers. And I will show up bright and early on Saturday, ready to make sure those people know who’s the boss of this family.”

Jo Ellen yawned, thankfully too tired to argue.

“Can you even see where you’re going?” she asked after five minutes of blessed silence.

“I can see,” Maggie lied, blinking eyelids that felt like sandpaper.

In truth, the darkness smudged the edges of the world and made everything blurrier than it should be. The overhead lights were few and far between, saved for exits. The rest of this absolute wasteland of highway was pitch black.

Taillights bled red, when there were any at all for her to follow. And the headlights barreling from the opposite side of I-10 were small suns, searing into Maggie’s retinas. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t squint. She didn’t slow down, even when that speedometer neared her age.

She gritted her teeth and kept driving.

A few minutes later, Jo Ellen groaned. “Oh, Maggie, I hate to say this, but I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Hold it.”

“Look, I’m sorry for being human,” Jo Ellen muttered. “But there’s an exit sign and a gas station.”

Maggie curled her lip. “Another lovely restroom in a BP? Ah, nothing like using a key hanging off a two-by-four to open a world of rust-stained sinks and seat-free toilets. No, thanks.”

“But you know my bladder. I believe you called it the size of a cashew.”

“A half-cashew,” Maggie corrected, then sighed. “Okay. We’ll stop.”

“It’s this exit, Mags.”

“Right here? This exit? Whoa…” She swerved into the right lane—no, she didn’t look, sorry —and blew down the ramp a little fast.

“Maggie!”

She slammed on the brakes and they screeched, which made her foot slip off the brake pedal and onto the gas, launching them forward.

“Oh, dear. Sorry!” She had a panic moment, veered into the other lane, and then straightened, finally stopping at the bottom of the exit ramp. “Whoops.”

“Well, now I don’t need to use the bathroom,” Jo Ellen said without missing a beat. “Just get me a new Depends.”

Maggie snorted and mumbled another apology as she gingerly picked up speed and turned right, but the words got trapped in her mouth when she spotted a flash of red and blue in the rearview mirror.

“Wait. What?” She hit the brakes so hard, they bucked, and she nearly stalled out, totally forgetting about that clutch. “Is he coming after us?”

“I think he was on the ramp watching for…trouble.”

Maggie bit back a dark, dark word and kept driving, very slowly and to the right, so he could get around them and go find the real bad guy.

But the cruiser stayed behind them, then turned the siren on.

“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.”

“What?”

“Ma’am, I need you to step out of the car.”

“Step out… why ?” she sputtered. “Two months? I was in Europe! I used a passport. Would you like that? You can blame my daughter, you know. I live with her, and she drives me everywhere—not that I can’t drive, I certainly can—but didn’t they check that in the car dealership before they let me buy this thing? What was wrong with those people?”

“Out. Of. The. Car.”

She swallowed and tried to unlatch her seatbelt. Tried and tried, but Jo Ellen reached over and touched the button to free her.

“Relax,” she whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Actually,” the officer said, “she was swerving, driving inconsistently, and hitting eighty for the last ten miles. Also, driving with an expired license and can’t produce a registration.”

“I’m working on that!” Jo Ellen insisted, nervously fluttering all the papers.

“Wait. You were following me? For ten miles?”

He didn’t answer, but let her open the door and step out, where she promptly swayed and nearly buckled. “Oh! This road. So uneven!”

With a harsh glare, he lifted his flashlight and shined it directly on her face. She blinked and covered her eyes. “Do you mind? As you just so kindly pointed out, I’m seventy-eight.”

Jo Ellen reached over and stuck her head out the window, smiling like a pageant queen. “I found a bill of sale. Will that work? And, of course, you can call Frank, but it’s late and we don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

When he lowered the light, she saw his metal star badge that read Deputy Sheriff Okaloosa County, and on the other side of his chest a simple name tag read Herman in block letters.

“Is that your first name or last?” Maggie asked, the words coming out fast and nervous. “I knew a Herman once. Herman Wisniewski and?—”

“I’m going to ask you again. Have you had anything to drink tonight, Mrs. Lawson?”