Free The War Gate by Chris Stevenson Page A

door.
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
     
    After showering, Avy decided on her lavender jogging suit. She tugged her hair into a ponytail, then shoved her feet into her best running shoes. Now she was dressed to twist into a pretzel if Sebastian asked her to. But there was one thing she wanted to do before going to the theater—stop by the library.
    She drove down Hillsborough Street and parked in the Harvey Sibbitt Library parking lot. Once inside the library, she went to the administration desk with her driver’s license in hand. An aged woman had her back to her, stacking books on a shelving unit. When she turned around, she caught sight of Avy, slapped a hand to her mouth, and dropped an armload to the floor.
    Avy stepped back, fearful she’d done something wrong.
    “It’s your face,” said the woman, emphasizing the noun.
    “What’s wrong with it?” Avy dug in her purse for a mirror.
    “Nothing’s wrong with it. You look like someone who used to come in here.”
    Avy blinked. “Was it Avalon Labrador? She was my mother, and she used to live here.”
    The clerk fanned herself. “It’s just so striking. You could be twins. I knew your mother. She was a peach. I am very sorry about the way things turned out. The trial made the headlines here for months. Dear God, it was a regular media circus.”
    “There’s no need to apologize.”
    The woman handed her a form. “I’m Abigail Folger. Let’s get you started on a card.”
    Avy filled out the form, which got her a temporary. “Do you have an archives room? I might need tapes that go back to the nineteen seventies.”
    “Forgive me for asking, but would this have to do with your mother?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “You’d be swimming in the microfiche for days to search out all of the articles. You could get that information face to face from the man who knew her better than anyone. Raymond Hammersmith. He’s worked at the women’s correctional facility for thirty-five years. He gathered everything in a scrapbook, spending months following the trial like a bloodhound. It would save you the hassle.” She brought out a phone book from under the counter. She wrote down the address and pushed the paper slip across the counter.
    “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” said Avy.
    “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
     
    ###
     
    Hammersmith’s residence was on the South Side, on a street called Flag. It was a dusty, silver trailer on an unkempt lot. A large oak tree with a rotted tire swing sat off center in front of the entrance. Flagstones led up to the door, which looked like a submarine hatch. Six pots held rhododendrons under an aluminum eave. A small sedan cowered under a flimsy awning. The place screamed poverty, given its condition.
    After she parked, Avy strolled up the walk, then rapped on the door. The trailer suspension creaked under heavy footsteps. The door opened with a squeal. A large man, fifty something, stepped forward holding a coffee cup. He squinted.
    “Hello,” said Avy, throwing on her best smile. “My name’s Avy Labrador. I’ve come here because I think you can help me.”
    The coffee cup slipped from his hand, swung on a pudgy index finger, its contents splashing on the wooden steps over Avy’s shoes. The man gawked, taking a step backward.
    Avy licked her lips. She would try this again. “Like I was saying, a certain person gave me your address. I’m sorry to bother you, but you knew my mom, right? I was wondering if you could answer some questions.” There, she got it out in one breath.
    “Man, I’m so fucked up,” said the man. “I mean, I’m super shocked. For a minute, I thought Avalon had dropped out of a cloud to come haunt my ass. But you’re not her!”
    She narrowed her eyes. “I sure hope you’re Raymond Hammersmith.”
    “They call me Chubby.” He stared at her. “Yes, yes, come in. By all means!” He back-peddled, allowing her in. She entered, looking around for a moment. She chose to