Runaway Colton. Karen Whiddon

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       Chapter 1

      “I was framed.” Back ramrod straight, clenching her hands into fists so her adoptive brother and sister wouldn’t see how badly they shook, Piper Colton kept her voice perfectly level. “You have to realize that.”

      “Framed.” Marceline Colton snorted, making her elegant, gem-encrusted earrings swing. “Right. Piper, you were arrested. The police wouldn’t have arrested you unless they had sufficient evidence. I think finding Eldridge’s bloody shirt in your closet might have been the final clue.”

      “I saved up to buy that shirt for him one Christmas when I was sixteen. You know that.”

      “Now it’s evidence,” Marceline continued, her voice as icy as her pale blue, flawlessly made-up eyes. “Apparently enough evidence for them.” She sneered, her bright red lipstick a bright slash of color in her alabaster face. “Where’s your trademark optimism now?”

      “It’s all circumstantial. They don’t even have a body.” Piper spoke with confidence, despite the fact that her own family’s suspicion hurt her heart.

      “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before they find the body,” Marceline declared. Even at home, every strand of her golden-blond hair appeared perfect. When Piper had been younger, she’d been envious of Marceline’s movie star appearance. Now, understanding the amount of work that went into maintaining that look, it only made Piper feel tired. Plus, Marceline might be gorgeous on the outside, but her inner self was an entirely different matter.

      “That’s true,” Fowler Colton agreed, his cold blue eyes intense. As usual, he wore one of his custom suits and perfectly pressed black Stetsons. “Come on, Piper. You can tell us. Did you kill Eldridge?”

      Though Piper wanted to double over at the amount of pain his question caused, by sheer strength of will she managed to remain expressionless. Her natural optimism hadn’t fled—it had just gone into temporary hiding. “How can you ask me such a thing? Why on earth would I murder my own father?”

      “Adoptive father,” Marceline reminded her. “You’re not a real Colton, after all.”

      As if she could forget. Not possible, with Marceline finding a way to remind her of that fact at least once a day. Piper figured this was Marceline’s way of dealing with her own insecurity, since Marceline hadn’t been born a Colton, either. However, since her mother, Whitney, was actually married to Eldridge Colton, Marceline clearly figured that put her one step above Piper, who’d been orphaned when Whitney and Eldridge adopted her.

      “Think of what you’re doing to poor Whitney,” Fowler said, the disapproval in his voice matching the disgusted expression on his face. “She took you in, adopted you, cared for you, and you repay her by killing her husband. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Piper.”

      Piper opened her mouth and then closed it. She had the strangest urge to laugh, but reined it in lest they label her insane, as well. “You know me, Fowler. How could you think I’d kill anyone, let alone Eldridge? I won’t even squash a spider.”

      Marceline snorted. “Well, obviously this time you must have figured you had more to gain.”

      Looking from one to the other, Piper shook her head. “No matter how many times I tell you I didn’t do it, you’ll never believe my innocence, will you?”

      “Nope,” Marceline responded promptly. She and Fowler exchanged identical smug smiles, making Piper wonder if they’d high-five each other next. She’d long ago given up on trying to figure out why the two of them disliked her so much. At least she still had T.C., Reid and Alanna, her other siblings. She’d bet they’d believe her.

      “You know I’ve been mourning Eldridge,” Piper began, hoping to try again. “I love—loved—him. Why would anyone believe I’d harm him?”

      “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?

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