Chapter 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 local government 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 drinking too 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.
"You son of a bitch," Danny Walsh snarled, pushing past the chairs that separated him from Pierce. "You come into our town, you stir up trouble, you get people killed, and then you have the balls to accuse us of covering up murder?"
Pierce backed up but didn't retreat, his Hollywood arrogance warring with his survival instincts. "I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just trying to find the truth."
"The truth?" Walsh was close enough now that Pierce could probably smell the beer on his breath. "The truth is that you killed Keith Dwyer as sure as if you'd forced him into that car yourself."
What happened next unfolded with the kind of sudden violence that erupted when community pressure reached a breaking point.
Walsh threw a punch that caught Pierce on the jaw, sending him stumbling backward into Camila.
The crowd erupted in shouts and movement as some people surged forward and others tried to get away from the confrontation.
Pierce went down hard, Walsh on top of him, throwing punches while shouting about outsiders and troublemakers. Marcus and Theo tried to pull Walsh off their colleague while Camila and Sienna scrambled to protect their equipment from the chaos.
“Let me through,” Sergeant Emerson said. “Move.”
"Enough!" A voice cut through the noise like a gunshot, carrying the kind of authority that made everyone freeze. Mia’s uncle, Officer Ray Sutherland, pushed through the crowd, his High Peaks PD uniform and badge clearing a path through the mob.
Two other officers followed close behind, hands resting on their weapons but not drawing them.
Ray cut Mia a glance before he reached the center of the confrontation and hauled Walsh off Pierce with the kind of controlled force that suggested years of breaking up bar fights and domestic disputes. "That's enough, Danny. Back off."
"He killed Keith," Walsh said, but the fight had gone out of him with Ray's arrival. "That bastard killed Keith as sure as anything."
"Keith killed Keith," Ray said loud enough for the immediate crowd to hear. "And if you don't want to spend the night in jail for assault, you'll walk away right now."
Walsh glared at Pierce, who was struggling to his feet with a split lip and what would probably become a spectacular black eye.
For a moment, it looked like the mechanic might take another swing, but Ray's presence and the sight of two other officers seemed to drain the violence out of the situation.
"This isn't over," Walsh said, pointing at Pierce. "You brought this on yourself."
He pushed through the crowd toward the exit, and several other men followed him. The tension in the room remained high, but the immediate threat of violence had passed.
“Do you want to press charges?” Ray asked Pierce.
Pierce shook his head and wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his media-trained composure finally cracking. "No. We're just trying to help. We're trying to find justice for a murdered family."
"Bullshit," said Rita Morrison, her library-trained voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. "You're trying to find content for your podcast. There's a difference."
Mayor Henley called for order one more time, but it was clear that any pretense of conducting normal town business had evaporated.
People were filing out in small groups, conversations continuing in heated whispers as they headed for the parking lot.
Mia remained in her seat, watching Pierce's team gather their equipment with shaking hands and shell-shocked expressions.
They'd come to High Peaks expecting to encounter the usual small-town resistance to outsiders asking uncomfortable questions.
What they'd found instead was a community that was actively hostile to their presence and potentially dangerous to their health.
Ray closed in on Pierce as the podcaster checked his phone for damage. "Mr. Landry, I think it would be wise if you and your team left and kept a low profile for the next few days. Give people time to cool down."
"Are you ordering us to leave town?" Pierce asked with a defensiveness that suggested he was considering exactly that option.
"I'm suggesting that you think carefully about how you proceed. Keith Dwyer's death has people upset, and they're looking for someone to blame. Right now, that someone is you."
Pierce nodded, seeming to finally understand that he was dealing with something more dangerous than typical small-town secrecy. His team gathered around him, and Mia heard Camila suggesting they return to their hotel and reassess their approach.
As they filed out, Pierce caught sight of Mia sitting alone near the back. Their eyes met for a moment, and she saw something in his expression that looked like appeal, as if he was hoping for at least one friendly face in a room full of hostility.
Mia looked away.
Not because she blamed Pierce for Keith's death, but because she was beginning to understand that her father had been right about the dangers of getting involved with outside investigations.
The people in this room weren't just upset about Keith.
They were afraid, afraid of what Pierce might uncover, afraid of what secrets might be exposed, afraid of what consequences might follow if the truth about the Hale murders finally came to light.
And fear, Mia was learning, made people do things they would never consider under normal circumstances. Things like turning a routine town meeting into a near riot. Things like blaming a podcaster for a suicide that might not have been suicide at all.
As the community center emptied and the maintenance staff began cleaning up the evidence of the evening's chaos, Mia sat alone in her chair and tried to process what she'd witnessed.
The names from Keith's suicide note, Carl Peterson, Rita Morrison, Danny Walsh, Mike Torres, Frank Kellerman, had all been in the room tonight, all vocal in their opposition to Pierce's investigation.
That could be coincidence. Or it could be something more deliberate, a coordinated effort to drive Pierce out of town before he got too close to whatever truth Keith had died to protect.
Either way, Mia was beginning to understand that the Hale murders weren't just an unsolved case from her childhood.
They were a live wire that still carried enough current to electrocute anyone who grabbed it without proper protection.
And Pierce, for all his media experience and investigative credentials, was about to learn that some truths were more dangerous than others.