Page 22 of Fatal Fame
7
It was stifling inside. The High Peaks Community Center buzzed with an energy that had nothing to do with the evening's official agenda. Mia arrived twenty minutes early for the monthly town meeting, hoping to secure a seat where she could observe without drawing attention to herself. What she found instead was a packed auditorium crackling with the kind of tension that preceded either revelation or violence.
Word of Keith Dwyer's death had spread through town like wildfire throughout the day. By afternoon, everyone knew the basic facts: carbon monoxide poisoning in his garage, an apparent suicide, a note mentioning the Hale murders. But more importantly, everyone knew that Keith had been interviewed by Pierce just yesterday, and the timing felt like more than coincidence to a community already on edge about outsiders asking uncomfortable questions.
Mia found a seat near the back, close enough to the exit that she could leave quickly if things turned ugly. The official agenda posted by the door listed routine municipal business, budget discussions, road maintenance proposals, a zoning variance request for a new bed-and-breakfast. The kind of tedious localgovernment matters that usually drew maybe thirty residents on a good night.
Tonight, the community center was standing room only.
Mayor Patricia Henley called the meeting to order at 7 PM sharp, her expression demonstrating she was already regretting not canceling the session when news of Keith's death broke. A retired teacher with the kind of steady competence that made her effective at managing small-town politics, she tried to maintain normal procedure despite the obvious tension in the room.
"Before we begin with tonight's agenda," Mayor Henley said clearly through the PA system, "I want to acknowledge that we've all heard the tragic news about Keith Dwyer. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family during this difficult time."
"Tragic?" The voice came from somewhere near the front, angry and confrontational. "Or convenient?"
Mia recognized the speaker, Carl Peterson, one of the names from Keith's suicide note. She’d learned the names from Ozzy, who never could keep his mouth shut. Carl was a local contractor with a reputation for speaking his mind whether people wanted to hear it or not. Tonight, his weathered face was flushed with anger.
"Carl, please," Mayor Henley said. "This isn't the appropriate forum?—"
"When is the appropriate forum?" Carl stood up, turning to address the crowded room instead of the mayor. "When is it appropriate to talk about how a young man winds up dead twenty-four hours after some Hollywood hotshot shows up asking questions about things that should be left alone?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Mia felt the atmosphere shift from tense to dangerous. She spotted Pierce and his team seated in the middle section, looking increasingly uncomfortable as hostile eyes turned in their direction.
"Now hold on," said another voice from the crowd. Rita Morrison, another name from Keith's list, rose from her seat near the windows. She was a stern-faced woman in her sixties who ran the local library with the kind of iron discipline that made children whisper in her presence. "We don't know what happened to Keith yet. It's not fair to blame?—"
"Not fair?" Carl's voice rose. "Keith was fine until these people showed up. A little troubled, sure, but he was getting by. Then Mr. Famous Podcaster here starts stirring up old business, and suddenly Keith's dead with a note about murders from ten years ago?"
“A note?” someone asked.
“Yeah, word has it Keith pointed the finger at multiple people.”
Pierce stood up slowly, his media-trained instincts telling him to take control of the narrative before it spiraled completely out of his reach. "I understand everyone's upset about Keith's death. We're all shocked by this tragedy. But I want to be clear that our investigation had nothing to do with?—"
"Your investigation?" The interruption came from Frank Kellerman, a heavy-set man who owned the hardware store and had the kind of voice that could carry over power tools. "Who appointed you to investigate anything? You're not police, you’re not a private investigator, hell, you're not even from here, you're just some outsider looking to make money off our misery."
"That's not true," Pierce said, his voice remaining calm despite the hostility radiating from the crowd. "We're trying to find answers for the Hale family, trying to bring justice for Rebecca and Jacob."
"Justice?" Danny Walsh stood up from the front row, and Mia noticed how his movement seemed to trigger similar responses from several other men scattered throughout the room. Walsh was a local mechanic with a reputation for drinkingtoo much and starting fights, but tonight his anger seemed focused and purposeful. "You want to talk about justice? How about the justice of leaving a community in peace instead of coming here with your cameras and your theories, turning neighbors against each other?"
Mia watched Pierce's team react to the mounting hostility. Marcus was typing furiously on his phone, probably trying to figure out how to spin this disaster for their corporate sponsors. Camila had her hand on what looked like a recording device, her journalistic instincts warring with her survival instincts. Theo was pale and wide-eyed, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. Sienna was filming the confrontation with her phone, which only seemed to make the crowd angrier.
"Put that damn camera away," shouted someone from the back. "We're not your entertainment."
Mayor Henley banged her gavel repeatedly, trying to restore order to a situation that was rapidly deteriorating. "People, please! This is a public meeting with established procedures. If you want to discuss concerns about Mr. Landry's presence in our community, we can add it to the agenda, but we need to maintain civility."
"Civility?" Carl Peterson's voice dripped with contempt. "Tell that to Keith Dwyer's sister when she comes to bury her brother. Tell that to Rebecca Hale's family when they have to relive their tragedy because some podcast needs content."
Pierce tried again. "I spoke with Keith yesterday, and he seemed eager to help. He wanted the truth about Rebecca's death to come out. He?—"
"He wanted to be left alone!" The voice belonged to Mike Torres, the fifth name from Keith's list. Torres was an average, well-built man who worked as a realtor. Mia had never heard him raise his voice in public before. Tonight, he was shaking with anger. "Keith struggled with depression, with drinking,with fitting in. But he was trying to get his life together. Then you show up, fill his head with ideas about being some kind of hero, and twenty-four hours later he's dead."
The crowd's energy was building toward something ugly. Mia could see it in the way people were positioning themselves, the way conversations were stopping as attention focused on the confrontation brewing between the locals and Pierce's team.
"Maybe we should go," she heard Theo whisper to his colleagues. "This is getting dangerous."
But Pierce seemed determined to stand his ground, perhaps believing that backing down would damage his credibility or admit guilt he didn't feel. "Keith Dwyer told me there were people in this town who knew the truth about the Hale murders but were too afraid to speak up. Looking at this reaction, I'm starting to understand why."
The words hit the crowd like gasoline on a fire. Several men started moving toward Pierce's section, and Mia saw Mayor Henley reach for the phone that connected directly to the police dispatch.
