13 Hangmen (23 page)

Meanwhile, Michael gave Tony a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine shrug. “What's that under your arm?” he asked, nodding at the scrapbook.

“Oh, just something I found in the basement,” Tony said.

“What?” Angelo said. “Is there a break in the case?”

“I'll tell you about it later,” Tony said to both boys and Michael at once. He shoved the album into the bookcase.

“Angelo and I figured out a plan,” Solly said. “Finn's mam doesn't need to marry Cedric. Finn should just never,
ever
make any pacts with childhood friends. Nor should he go to the horse races as a grown-up, or do any business with a Hagmann—with
one important exception: selling Number Thirteen to Chester the very first time he makes an offer. Otherwise, he'll end up disappearing forever in his twenties.”

“I
what
?”

The boys all whirled around. Finn was standing in the doorway. “Paddy's down in the parlor,” he said. “Decorating a tree loaded with presents—just like Solly said. What do you mean I disappear forever?”

“Oops,” Solly said. “Me and my big mouth.”

Meanwhile, oblivious to how crowded the room was getting, the chief inspector turned to his assistant. “That's odd,” he said, frowning. The assistant agreed.

“Now what?” Michael said.

“The interior dimensions of this floor fall short of the exterior measurements of the building by almost nine feet square,” the inspector said.

“Old houses,” said the assistant. “Probably never surveyed right to begin with.”

“Well, that about wraps it up,” said the chief.

They headed out the door past Finn.

“So how did we do?” Michael asked, following.

“Tell it to us straight,” Tony said.

“We don't have great news,” Angelo said to Finn.

“We don't have great news,” the chief said to Michael. “Best
case? You're looking at a half million dollars—minimum—to get this place up to code.”

Both Tony and Michael gasped.

“Tell it to me straight,” Finn said.

“What's
wrong
?” Angelo said to Tony. “Your face just went green.”

“But that's not your most immediate problem,” the chief said, shuffling down the staircase.

“Uh-oh,” Michael said, galloping after him.

“Be right back,” Tony said.

The inspectors started stringing yellow caution tape across the front stoop. “Your
immediate
problem,” said the chief, “is that this town house shares its sidewalls—the only sound ones, by the way—with the buildings on either side. You'll have to get the approval of both your neighbors before we can authorize any sort of major repair work. But if either one objects that extensive renovation here will create a hazard to their own quality of life, we'll have no choice but to dismantle this property professionally.”

“You mean tear it down?” Tony said.

The assistant stapled a big
Notice of Eviction
to the front door.

“Meantime,” the chief said, “on behalf of the City of Boston, I hereby serve you, Anthony DiMarco, official notice that, in the
interest of your own health and safety, you and your family have until six p.m. to vacate the premises.”

Julia jogged up. She was obviously just back from a long run. “Now what?” she said, out of breath. Michael told her.

She burst into tears.

“This can't be legal,” Tony said. “Where will we go?”

The chief handed Michael a pamphlet. “It's all in there,” he said. “You'll be temporarily moved to a motel out at Revere Beach, pending a hearing on the feasibility of salvaging the building. In the event that Number Thirteen is condemned, you'll be given a small stipend to help you relocate to more permanent accommodations.”

The twins wandered up from wherever they'd been.

“What's wrong with Mom?” Mikey said.

“‘Notice of
eviction'
?” Angey said. “We're getting thrown out?”

Michael filled them in.

Mikey pivoted on his heels and stormed back out of the court, cursing a blue streak at Tony and Zio Angelo and Boston. This time Angey didn't follow. He was too curious to find out what would happen next.

Michael turned to the inspectors. “So how do we fight this?”

“Does Number Thirteen have any historical significance?” the chief asked. Michael shook his head; old town houses were
pretty much a dime a dozen in the North End. “Shame,” the inspector said. “This place could easily be saved from the wrecking ball by getting it listed as a historic site. Plus you could apply for funds to renovate it through the Historical Preservation Society.” He told Michael he would be in touch about the date of the public hearing, once he'd contacted and interviewed the neighbors. Both inspectors wished the DiMarcos the best of luck, then climbed into their van and drove off.

Julia started to wail. She ducked under the caution tape and dashed into the house. Michael looked as though he was trying not to burst into tears himself. In a husky voice, he suggested that Angey and Tony start packing their rooms, then headed inside to console Julia.

“It's not your fault,” Angey said.

“Thanks,” Tony said, not so sure.

Angey went inside.

The curtains fluttered over at No. 15. Old Man Hagmann stared smugly out his bay window. As much as Tony wanted to chuck a rock at him—especially since he now had much better aim—he didn't see what good it would do. Michael was right; they had all better get packing.

So it was with a heavy heart that Tony trudged up to the attic.

Angelo, Solly, and Finn were still waiting for him on the bed.

“What the heck is going on?” Angelo said.

“Doesn't matter anymore,” Tony said, sighing. “Sorry, but a Hagmann finally got the best of us. Game over.” He grabbed one of the packing boxes still stacked in the corner. He strode over to the pawcorance and swept every last object on the spiral into it.

The boys on the bed vanished.

ony knelt at the bookcase. He started to pack up all the trophies and memorabilia and mysteries on the shelves. He paused, though, when he got to Zio Angelo's scrapbook. He couldn't resist opening it and taking a closer look at what was inside.

The first page was blank, except for those little stick-on corner holders that framed the ghost shadow of a photo no longer there. He began to flip through the leaves. Angelo was always standing alone: Angelo in a pilot's uniform at the Eiffel Tower. Angelo in a wet suit on a tropical beach, holding up a gigantic oyster with a pearl inside. Angelo on a pack mule halfway down the Grand Canyon. Angelo in a pith helmet waving one of those archaeology picks in front of the Great Pyramid. Angelo popping
a wheelie on a rickety old bike on the Great Wall of China. Angelo flying a kite in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. The Taj Mahal. The Colosseum. The Statue of Liberty. Flipping through the scrapbook's pages was sort of like watching time-lapse photography—Angelo transforming from the awkward teen Tony knew into a handsome young athlete, into a man Michael's age, into a rugged adventurer with salt-and-pepper hair.

The photo of Anders Fogelberg fluttered out.

Hang on a sec.
Tony flipped back to the first page. The photo of Anders fit perfectly into the little stick-on corner holders. Angelo
couldn't
have been traveling alone. Somebody had to have traveled alongside him, taking all the pictures. Anders Fogelberg?

Tony flipped to the last page. Finally, Tony recognized the old man he had met last Thanksgiving in Ann Arbor in a photo of Zio Angelo, lying in the brass bed in the parlor of No. 13. Two things struck Tony as odd. The first was that Zio Angelo was wearing Ted Williams's cap, even though he was in his pajamas. The second was that somebody was finally in the photo beside him. Not Anders Fogelberg. A woman Julia's age, dressed in a white nurse's outfit. Beneath the photo was a business card:
MARIA GOMEZ, RN. HOME CARE VISITS
. Hang on a sec. Zio Angelo had had a visiting nurse? Since when? Tony pulled the card out. He tucked it into his wallet next to Hagmann's key. He wasn't quite sure why.

A thought struck him:
Ted Williams's cap!

But then there was a rap at the door.

“Go away,” Tony said.

Angey opened it a crack anyway. “You OK?” he asked. Tony shrugged. Angey slipped into the room. “Mom wants you and me to take those new tarps back to the hardware and exchange them for more packing tape.”

“Where's Mikey?” Tony said. “The two of you are usually joined at the hip.”

“Having a meltdown in his room,” Angey said. “I was just talking him out of murdering you.”

“Oh.”

“Sometimes he can be pretty clueless,” Angey said.

That totally surprised Tony. He had never heard Angey say one bad thing about his twin—
ever
.

“At least now you won't get stuck in this creepy room for the rest of your life,” Angey said, looking around.

“It's not so bad,” Tony said. “Once you get used to it.”

“C'mon,” Angey said. “The clock's ticking.”

Tony nodded. He set the photo album back on the shelf. He stood. He followed Angey downstairs.
Ted Williams's cap.
He couldn't actually believe it, but he was going to miss this room. Not to mention all the thirteen-year-olds in it.

Coming out of the hardware store, they passed Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe.

“So what's in there, anyway?” Angey said.

Tony shrugged a how-should-I-know?

“That's where you went when you ditched us yesterday,” Angey said. “I saw you. I just didn't say anything about it to Mikey.”

“How come?” Tony said.

“Like you need him on your back about anything else,” Angey said.

“Just a bunch of junk,” Tony said. “And books.” But then he felt sort of guilty. As weird as Sarah Pickles was, she was also his friend—well, sort of. “Some of the junk is pretty cool,” he added. “Interesting.”