Page 18 of Fatal Fame
"I heard someone was asking around," Keith said after Pierce had settled onto the adjacent barstool. "Figured it was only a matter of time before someone got around to me."
"Why's that?"
Keith's laugh held no humor. "Because every time something bad happens in this town, I'm one of the first people they look at. Troubled past, history with the victim, convenient target for when the cops need someone to blame."
Pierce noted the defensive posture, the way Keith's hand tightened around his beer bottle, the quick glances toward the exit that suggested someone always ready to run. "Tell me about your relationship with Rebecca."
"Wasn't a relationship. Not the way people like to imply." Keith said. "She was my teacher, then later she tried to help me when I was having problems. End of story."
"But you stayed in touch after you graduated?"
"Sometimes. She'd check in, see how I was doing, offer advice about jobs or whatever. Rebecca was like that with a lot of former students. Made her feel good about herself, I guess."
Pierce caught the edge of resentment in Keith's voice, the suggestion that Rebecca's kindness had been motivated by something other than genuine concern. "Sounds like you didn't appreciate her attention."
"I appreciated it fine when I needed it. But there comes a point when a guy has to stand on his own, you know? Can't have your high school teacher calling to check up on you forever."
"So you asked her to stop?"
Keith was quiet for a moment, staring into his beer like it might contain answers to questions he didn't want to ask. "Not exactly. More like I tried to distance myself, but Rebecca didn't take hints very well. She kept calling, kept showing up places where she knew I'd be. Started to feel like she was the one who couldn't let go."
This was new information, a reversal of the narrative that Tom Dillard had suggested. Pierce leaned forward slightly, careful not to seem too eager. "Can you give me an example?"
"She'd show up at my job sites sometimes, bringing lunch or just wanting to talk. Nice gesture, right? Except my boss started making comments about my 'girlfriend' coming around, and other workers started giving me shit about robbing the cradle even though she was older than me."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Embarrassed. Frustrated. Like I couldn't get away from being treated like a kid who needed adult supervision." Keith finished his beer and gestured for another. "And before you ask, no, I never threatened her or told her to stay away. I just started avoiding places where I knew she might show up."
Pierce filed away the defensive denial of threats, noting that Keith had anticipated the question before it was asked. "What about her weekend art classes? Did you ever attend those?"
"A few times, after I graduated. Figured it might be good for me, you know? Creative outlet, stress relief, that kind of thing. But there was this other guy there who made it weird."
"Travis Rudd?"
Keith's expression darkened. "Yeah. Creepy bastard. Always hanging around after class, asking Rebecca personal questions, finding excuses to touch her when he was looking at her work. Made everyone uncomfortable, but Rebecca was too nice to tell him to back off."
"Did you ever confront Travis about his behavior?"
"Didn't have to. Guy stopped coming to classes after a few weeks. Heard later that Rebecca had finally said something to him about maintaining appropriate boundaries."
Pierce made notes, trying to piece together the dynamics between those who'd orbited around Rebecca in ways that might have created tension or jealousy. "When was the last time you saw Rebecca alive?"
"Week before she died, maybe? Ran into her at the grocery store. She seemed... I don't know, distracted. Stressed about something. We didn't talk long."
"Did she mention what was bothering her?"
"Not specifically. Just said she had some things to work out, some decisions to make. Figured it was job stuff or maybe problems with Jacob. Teenagers can be difficult."
Pierce sensed there was more to the story. "Keith, I have to ask, where were you the night Rebecca and Jacob were killed?"
Keith's jaw tightened, and Pierce could see him weighing his options—cooperation or confrontation, truth or deflection.
"Home. Alone. Watching TV and drinking beer, same as most Saturday nights." Keith's voice was steady, but Piercecaught the slight tension that suggested this answer had been rehearsed. "Not much of an alibi, but it's the truth."
"Anyone who can verify that?"
"Nope. Like I said, I was alone. Didn't make any phone calls, didn't have visitors, didn't order pizza. Just me and a case of beer and whatever crap was on TV that night."
