13 Hangmen (8 page)

Williams stood his ground. Cronin's note did not contain an apology to Solly. No apology, no deal. Solly advised Williams to skip it. Solly had known since he was a kid that he wouldn't have much of a ball career—never mind why—and his chances of joining the Sox's starting lineup had anyway disappeared the minute he'd opened his “uppity Jew-boy benchwarmer big mouth” to Cronin back in the dugout. Solly turned to Angelo. “But it's all been worth it,” he said, “to get the chance to celebrate your thirteenth birthday with you.” He ripped the
27
off the sleeve of his jersey and placed the embroidered patch in Angelo's hand. He gave Mama a rib-cracking hug good-bye. She asked him if he was sure about what they had discussed while stacking dishes in the kitchen. He said he'd never been surer of anything in his life. Williams asked where Solly was headed. Solly said he didn't know—California maybe? He'd never been there. With that, he shook Williams's hand and ambled out the door.

Williams turned to Angelo. “What would you do if you were me?”

Angelo thought it over. “Play,” he said. “I'd put some ice on that ankle tonight, wrap it good and tight, then play tomorrow. I'd play like I've never played before—not for Cronin, or Collins, or Yawkey. Not for the Boston papers or the Fenway fans. I'd play for Saul, and for Solomon.”

Williams nodded. He stood. He thanked Angelo's mother for dinner. Then he turned to Angelo and made him promise always to fight for what was right. He placed his cap on Angelo's head and wished him a happy birthday. Without speaking another word, he opened the front door and, parting the crowd of reporters at the bottom of the front stoop with his silence, climbed into the waiting cab.

h my God,” Tony whispered. “You're telling the truth.” Because there was no denying it: this kid's story matched, word for word, the one Zio Angelo had told him at Thanksgiving. “But why aren't you haunting me as an old man?”

“Haunting you?” Angelo said. “I don't even
know
you.”

“Well, what were you doing in my bed, then?” Tony said.

“Heck if I know!” Angelo said. “After I finished helping Mama do the dishes, I came up here, to
my
room, to try Ted Williams's cap on in front of the mirror. It was miles too big. So I turned on my new portable radio—Mama's other birthday present to me besides the quilt—and made a couple of adjustments to the brim while I listened to the nightly news.”

“And?” Tony said.

“It's true, Lou Gehrig has some sort of disease they don't know how to cure,” Angelo said. “Hitler is cheesed off with Britain for guaranteeing to protect Poland. The World's Fair opened in New York to record attendance. Oh yeah, and DC gave the Batman his own comic book.”

“No,” Tony said. “I meant: And then what did you do?”

“Oh,” Angelo said. “I gave Williams's cap the place of honor on the shelf above the bookcase. I turned off the radio. I changed into my pajamas. I climbed into bed. Next thing I knew, I was waking up beside
you
.”

“So you don't want to be avenged?” Tony said.

“For what?” Angelo said.

“For your sudden and mysterious death,” Tony said.

“I'm not dead,” Angelo said. “Obviously.”

They were interrupted by a gentle knock at the bedroom door. “Rise and shine,” Michael said from the other side.

“I'm awake,” Tony called out.

“Yeah, well I'm not so sure I am,” Angelo said. “None of this makes any sense.”

“Can I come in?” Michael said.

“Just a sec,” Tony said. “Quick!” he whispered to Angelo. “Get under the bed.”

“Why?” Angelo said.

“My dad's at the door,” Tony said.

“I don't hear anybody,” Angelo said.

“Just do it!” Tony said. “Until we figure out what's going on.”

Reluctantly, Angelo climbed under the bed.

Tony let Michael into the room.

“Just thought I'd come up and see how your first night went,” Michael said.

“OK, I guess,” Tony said. He sat on the edge of the mattress to block his dad's view of who—or what—was under it.

Michael peered around the room. “See? I told you it would feel completely different up here with your own stuff.” He wandered over to the shelf above the bookcase and pulled the cap off the spiral. He tugged at a loose stitch on the
B.
“Remind me to get this appraised,” he said. “Wouldn't it be cool if it really was Ted Williams's first cap with the Sox?”

The sound of a doorbell echoed up the stairwell.

“Maybe that's the cable guy,” Michael said, making his way over to the bed. “He promised he'd be here bright and early.” He placed the cap on Tony's head, then tugged the bill over his eyes. “Get dressed. We've got a big day ahead, you and me. First we're taking ourselves out to breakfast. Then we've got some history mysteries to solve.” The bell rang again, followed by someone pounding at the door. “Better get that before he wakes
up the whole house,” Michael said. He strolled out and made his way downstairs.

Tony pulled the cap off his head. He hung it on the brass knob topping the bedpost. He ducked his head under the bed to tell Angelo the coast was clear.

Angelo was gone.

Tony glanced around the room. No closet to hide in, no armoire to duck behind, no balcony or fire escape to crouch on. He wandered over to the slate shelf. He placed his finger in the center of the spiral. Nothing. No static hum. No echo of voices. Angelo had just plain vanished. Tony pulled on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Was it possible he had imagined the whole thing?

It wasn't the cable guy. It was the police.

Two plainclothes detectives. One of them was leading Michael by the arm down the stoop to a car parked at the curb. Tony stood frozen in the doorway, utterly speechless.
No way
, he thought.
This can't be happening
. And yet it was.

“What's going on here?”

Julia emerged from the door beneath the stoop, still dressed in her bathrobe and clutching a pot of coffee.

“We're taking this suspect, Michelangelo DiMarco, down to the station for questioning,” said the first detective.

“Suspect for what?” Julia said.

“For the possible murder of his uncle, Angelo DiMarco,” said the other detective.

“But that's completely crazy!” Julia said.

“Yeah, he's totally innocent!” Tony said. But he couldn't stop himself from glancing up at Old Man Hagmann's window. Oh great. There he was, standing right behind his lace curtains watching the whole thing.

“Don't worry,” Michael said. “All of the so-called allegations against me are nothing but a series of unrelated coincidences. I can explain away every single one.”

“That would be advisable,” the first detective said.

“What allegations?” Julia said.

“I'm sure it'll all be cleared up by lunchtime,” Michael said.

“Don't say anything!” Tony said. “Not without a lawyer present!”

The second detective told Julia that she should, in fact, contact a lawyer.

“But we just moved to Boston,” Julia said. “We don't know any lawyers!”

“Call Birnbaum,” Michael advised Julia. “The guy who drew up Zio Angelo's will. His card is in my briefcase.” He turned to Tony. “Do me a favor? Don't mention any of this to the twins. No need to go upsetting them for nothing.”

“But it's not nothing!” Julia said.

“Of course it is,” Michael said. “And we'll all have a good laugh about it when I get back from the station.”

“But it's not funny!” Julia said.

“This way, please,” said the first detective. He opened the back door of the cruiser. His partner settled Michael into the caged backseat. They both climbed into the front, and the car roared away from the curb with tires screeching.

“Oh my God!” Julia said, clamping her hand over her mouth. She turned to Tony. “You don't think—?”

Tony glanced next door. Old Man Hagmann had vanished. Suddenly he was absolutely one hundred percent certain. “Are you
kidding
? Dad's a vegetarian Buddhist, for God's sake. He doesn't believe in killing
flies
. He won't even wear a leather belt. They've totally got the wrong guy.”

“You're right,” Julia said. “Sorry. I'm just a little freaked out.”

“That makes two of us!” Tony said.

They just stood there.

“So what are we going to do?” Julia said.

“Get that lawyer on the phone,” Tony said.

Julia flipped her cell phone shut. “Birnbaum is pretty sure the next-door neighbor called the cops,” she told Tony.

They were both down in the kitchen.

“I figured,” Tony said.

“Mr. Hagmann was apparently at the reading of Zio Angelo's will. He got really upset. He started making all sorts of wild accusations.”

“So what did the lawyer say about Dad?”

“Birnbaum's headed over to the station now,” Julia said. “He told me to sit tight by the phone until I hear from him.”

The twins wandered into the room in sweatpants and T-shirts, looking like they'd just rolled out of bed.

“I guess we're not going running this morning,” Mikey said, yawning.

“Who was at the door?” Angey asked. “I thought I heard voices outside.”

Julia just stared at him, at a loss for words.

“Cable guy,” Tony said.

“So where is he?” Angey said.

“He didn't have enough cable to wire the whole place,” Tony said. “He went back to the shop for more.”

“Better be coming back,” Mikey said. “It'll be a long summer without HBO.”

“Where's Dad?” Angey said.

Silence. Julia was still a deer in the headlights.

“He had to swing by the lawyer's to sign some papers,” Tony said.

“I thought he was taking you on that history mystery thing?” Angey said.

Not anymore.

“I'd totally dog that too, if I were Dad,” Mikey said. “Bor-ring.”

Julia finally recovered. “Tony's meeting him at the Paul Revere House, where the tour starts. Which is why I'd better get making some pancakes. Meantime, the two of you should put on some old clothes. As soon as we've eaten, I need you to help me move all the furniture in the mother-in-law room out onto the back deck so we can pull up the linoleum. I want to start sanding the hardwood floors.”

“Suddenly history mysteries aren't sounding so bad,” Mikey said. He grabbed two bananas out of the fruit bowl on the counter. He handed Angey one of them. They headed back upstairs.

“Sorry,” Julia said to Tony. “It's all I could think of at the spur of the moment. But now I guess you'll have to go on the tour.”

“Not with Dad in jail!” Tony said.

“He's not
in
jail,” Julia said. “He's
at
the jail, just for questioning. Anyway, there's nothing either of us can do until we hear from Birnbaum. We both have to believe your father is right: that everything'll be cleared up by lunch. The only way
we're going to prevent ourselves from going out of our minds is by getting on with the day, as planned.”

“But I couldn't even
think
about solving a bunch of lame history mysteries at a time like this,” Tony said.

“Try,” Julia said. “For my sake. If we ever needed a detective in the family, it's now.”