Free Sarah Armstrong - 01 - Singularity by Kathryn Casey Page B

left. Then two slides, left, left, with a pause. Garrity bobbled, and we repeated across the dance floor. He had a strong, athletic body, and he moved well, catching on quickly. Before long, he took the lead. Halfway through the song, he pulled me closer. For just a second I tensed, but I didn’t pull away. I wanted to remember the heavy sweetness of a man’s smell, and the tug of a strong arm gently riding just above my hip.
    After our dance, we paid our check and left. David talked on the walk to the motel, but I barely listened. Once there, I hurriedly said good night, agreeing to meet him at my Tahoe at six the next morning. I settled into my room at the Easy Street Motel, with its sagging bed and a nightstand that someone had leveled with the aid of a frayed book of matches, as thoughts of Bill crashed about me. I wished that I could see him, talk to him, one last time. What would I say? That I loved him? Bill knew that, just as I knew without question that he loved me. I pulled on the chain, extinguishing the only light, and crawled into bed wearing the nightshirt from the spare bag I kept in the truck, when it occurred to me that if I had one last chance to be with Bill, I’d say nothing. Instead, I’d hold him in my arms for every second God gave me.

Eight
    M y hand reached for the telephone before my mind acknowledged the ringing. The sun was just barely up.
    “Armstrong here,” I said.
    “It’s Scroggins,” the voice said. “I couldn’t reach Garrity. Is he there with you?”
    Still groggy, I didn’t immediately answer. I started to stutter, “No,” but it was too late. Scroggins was already laughing.
    “I hear those Quantico guys are fast movers, but this has to be a record,” he said, still chuckling.
    “He’s not…” Then I realized a denial would only do more damage. “What do you want? It’s not even six.”
    “I thought we’d give you a heads-up,” he said. “Nelson and I are bringing in Priscilla Lucas this morning.”
    “You’re what?”
    “You heard me,” he said, his voice thick with self-satisfaction. “We talked to the Galveston D.A. late last night. He says we’ve got enough to arrest her. The bitch has lawyered up. With the neighbor’s ID of her as the woman Knowles argued with the night before themurders, we’ve got more than suspicions. Plus, we found another one of Knowles’s neighbors who swears he saw the widow Lucas knocking on the dead mistress’s door on at least one other occasion.”
    “That’s not enough to—”
    “There’s more,” he said, his voice ringing with excitement. “Get this. We pulled her bank records. Three days before the murders, Lucas withdrew a hundred grand in cash from her personal account. We asked her lawyer for an explanation. Guy practically choked when he had to tell us that his client said it was a personal matter.”
    I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of the bed. This was serious.
    “Ted, I know it looks bad for Mrs. Lucas,” I said, straining to shake off sleep and gather my thoughts. “But Garrity and I found another murder using the same MO out here in East Texas. Everything about these murders points to a serial killer. You’ve got to be careful here. The Lucas family isn’t the only one with connections. Priscilla Lucas has not only three kids you’ll be putting through unnecessary hell but her own money and influence. Her father, Bobby Barker, and his lawyers will have you for lunch if you’re wrong. This could come back to haunt you, big time.”
    My cell phone was silent.
    “Same MO, huh?”
    “Nearly identical,” I said. “Down to the cross carved on the old woman’s chest and the bloody cross on the wall over her head.”
    Again, Scroggins said nothing.
    “That close,” he finally said.
    I knew I’d hit a nerve when I reminded him of Priscilla Lucas’s resources. No matter how much he wanted kudos from the top for closing the case, Agent Ted Scroggins wasn’t the type to step too far out on