Lights flashed behind her car, but the woman didn’t seem concerned. “Evening, officer,” she smiled. “You were speeding,” he stated. “That tracks,” she nodded. “They took my license away years ago – four DUIs will do that.”
Before the stunned officer could respond, she added, “Probably shouldn’t be driving a stolen car either. Especially after what happened to the owner.” His fingers twitched toward his radio. “What exactly happened to the owner, ma’am?”
“Oh you know,” she waved casually, “the usual. Murder. Disposal. Standard car theft stuff.” Within minutes, the quiet highway looked like a police convention.
The captain approached cautiously. “We need to talk about these serious allegations.” The woman looked genuinely confused. “Allegations? About what?” When the trunk revealed no evidence, she suddenly remembered, “Oh! My license is right here. That other officer must have been confused – happens all the time!”
As the red-faced officers dispersed, one rookie muttered, “I think we just got punk’d by a grandma.” The legend of that traffic stop lives on in department lore.
