Karen Whiddon – Runaway Colton (страница 2)

“Maybe you know something we don’t.” Marceline smirked. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. Did you convince him to change his will and leave you a lot of money?”

The idea was so ludicrous Piper gasped. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not hardly.” Marceline watched her like a hawk watching a mouse. “You’ve always envied those of us who are better off than you.”

“I give up.” Piper threw up her hands. “Clearly, there’s nothing I can say that will make you believe I’m not a killer.”

“Convince us,” Fowler said. “Give us the reason that shirt was in your closet.”

That was easy. “It was planted.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know,” Piper cried. “I need your help to find out who would do such a thing and why.”

“I don’t believe you.” Marceline curled her brightly painted lips in disgust.

“Neither do I.” Fowler and Marceline exchanged knowing glances before he turned back to Piper. “And if your own family thinks you’re guilty,” Fowler continued, “how are you ever going to convince a jury that you’re not?”

Piper stared, praying her eyes didn’t reveal the hurt. She felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Leave it to Fowler. Nothing like going for the gusto. Except as he usually managed to do, Fowler had hit upon the crux of the problem.

Because he was right. If she didn’t take matters into her own hands, she’d be going to jail for a crime she hadn’t committed. It would be up to her to find the real killer and quickly, before her hearing.

“Cat got your tongue?” The vitriol in Marceline’s voice made Piper wonder for the hundredth time what she’d ever done to make her older adoptive sister despise her.

Like Marceline, Fowler waited, his gaze hooded and secretive. As long as she’d known him, the eldest Colton had constantly worked every angle, pulling invisible strings behind the scenes to help him obtain his goal, whatever that might be.

Still, they were family and their accusations felt like a knife straight through her heart.

Looking at the two people who should have been on her side, even if blood didn’t form any ties, Piper finally understood she was wasting her time. She could explain and rationalize until she turned blue, but Marceline and Fowler had already made up their minds. They believed her arrest had been warranted. They actually thought her capable of murder—not just murder—but the slaying of someone she loved.

This knowledge hurt more than she would have believed possible. While Marceline had never been kind to her, to consider her a murderess?

In that instant, Piper realized what she would have to do. For a person who always, without exception, did the right thing, running would be a bitter pill to swallow. But better than going to prison for a crime she hadn’t committed.

Even worse, she hadn’t gotten a chance to fully mourn Eldridge yet. Of course, until she actually saw his body, she refused to believe he was dead.

Too bad the police didn’t think the same way.

Pushing away the sheer terror turning her blood to ice, she managed to incline her head, hopefully gracefully, as she moved toward the stairs. “I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

Though both siblings continued to glare at her, neither responded. She didn’t dare breathe until she’d gotten out of their sight.

All her life she’d known if she wanted to get something done, she’d have to do it herself. This temporary snag would be no exception. Since no one else seemed inclined to locate the real killer, she’d simply have to do it herself. Even if she had to break the law to find the truth.

Once she reached her room, she hurried inside and locked the door. Then, she dug her old backpack from her closet and began to fill it with her clothes. She took three pairs of jeans, five long-sleeved shirts and two short-sleeved, underwear, bras and socks. She’d recently purchased a new pair of sneakers and hadn’t worn them yet, so they went on top, along with black flip-flops.

Removing her slip-on flats, she put on socks and her favorite pair of boots. Texas weather this time of year could be mercurial. Heat waves and cold snaps made it difficult to predict what she’d need, so she took a little of everything.

Tying a lightweight jacket around her waist, she gathered up her favorite cosmetics and dropped that bag into her oversize purse.

Now, she’d need to slip out of the house and get to the bank. Though she hated to empty her savings account, especially since she’d gotten so close to having enough to open her own business, she didn’t see that she had a choice.

Not if she wanted to stay free long enough to find out who really had kidnapped or killed Eldridge Colton.

* * *

If the day got any worse, Cord Maxwell figured he’d have to close up the office and go home. Not only had he failed to turn up a single lead on his missing niece, Renee, but after he paid the electric bill, he wouldn’t have too much leftover for food.

“Maybe you’ll have to start sharing your dog food with me,” he told Truman, the mangy mutt he’d rescued from the Kaufman County shelter a year ago. In pure Truman form, the skinny dog didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Earlier today, when Cord had taken Truman for his midmorning walk, some snooty woman in designer clothes had sniffed and called Truman ugly. It had taken every bit of restraint Cord possessed not to tell her off. Instead, he’d managed a mild “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, now isn’t it?” Then, unable to resist a scornful sweeping glance that hopefully told her he found her lacking, he led Truman away. Cord couldn’t understand how anyone couldn’t see the beauty in Truman’s caramel-colored eyes and jaunty plumed tail.

At least he had a forty-pound bag of Truman’s favorite lamb-and-rice dog food. Cord would go hungry if he had to, but his dog would always be fed.

Money again. Everything circled back around to that. He’d been in tight spots before and made it through by using credit cards to fill in the gaps. If he had to, he’d do that again.

Except for the one debt that required cash. Today he had to go visit Lorraine Berens, the once-wealthy widow his father had scammed out of money. He’d gone to her upon learning what his father had done and sworn to make it right. But this time, instead of making his usual payment of restitution, he’d have to explain his sad financial situation and promise to make it up to her as soon as he could.

Without any real work looming on the horizon, he wasn’t actually sure when that would be. He’d been so consumed with his search for Renee that he’d turned down too many jobs without thinking of the consequences.

Sinking down into his worn leather desk chair, he stared at the too-silent phone and willed it to ring. If only Renee would call and let him know she was all right. At least maybe then he could stop his gut from constantly churning.

Renee had been a surly sixteen-year-old when she’d come to live with him after the death of both her parents in a drunk driving accident. Her mother, Denice, had always been a hard partier, which had gotten worse when she’d married Joshua Barnes, who played bass guitar in a band. She’d quit when she’d gotten pregnant, but by the time Renee turned two, Denice had gone right back to her old ways. Cord rarely heard from her. She’d been driving drunk when she’d caused the accident that had killed her and Joshua and left a rebellious teenager an orphan.

Cord had tried—he really had—but he’d had no idea how to be a father to a sixteen-year-old who thought she was too cool for him and his life in a boring small town. His attempts at setting boundaries and rules had come too little too late and were laughed at and scorned.

For two years, every time they’d argued, Renee had told him she couldn’t wait until she turned eighteen. She’d given him plenty of warning, he’d give her that. But still, he’d been surprised as hell when he’d come home from work to find her meager belongings had vanished, along with her.

In that instant, he’d seen her future. He’d tried to help his older sister, but failed. He couldn’t let her daughter down. He had to find Renee and save her from herself.

Looking around the small, wood-paneled office from where he operated his business, he knew he’d risk everything he had to accomplish that.

He could almost see Sam shaking his head. Sam Ater had started S.A. Enterprises, Private Investigation and Fugitive Recovery. Years ago, when Cord had been assigned to him on a high school internship, Sam had taught the teenager everything there was to know. Cord would forever be grateful for Sam, who’d seen something in an insecure, poor teenager back in the day. Sam had taken Cord in and taught him the business. Unlike many of his classmates, Cord hadn’t the funds or the desire to go to college. The military held no appeal, either, but thanks to Sam, none of that mattered. Once Cord graduated, Sam had offered him a job.

Cord had a place to go after high school. Sam had not only given him a job, but a lifelong career.

Cord had gotten licensed and found his true vocation. He’d enjoyed going to work every single day. The business Sam had built, a respected fugitive recovery agency as well as private investigation firm, was an operation that not only operated within the law, but had an 89 percent success rate, something that placed them in the top tier of their industry.