13 Hangmen Read Online Free PDF

elaborate.
    Okeydokey, then.
Tony turned and made for the door.
    â€œTry the hardware,” she called after him. “They have all sorts of tourist crap.”
    Tony was now drenched in sweat and totally out of breath. But he had finally found the right cul-de-sac of town houses. He’d been circling the neighborhood for a half hour—just like Julia had done with the car that morning—trying to get back to Hangmen Court. He’d given up on the Freedom Trail when the hardware store didn’t sell maps either. The twins were still MIA. They had probably gorged their way from one end of that food court to the other. Meanwhile, he himself hadn’t had a singlesnack since his hummus sandwich at lunch. Strangely, he hadn’t thought once about a Snickers bar. Though now, of course, he was wondering if there were any left in the secret-stash pocket of his backpack, up in his so-called room.
    â€œYou there, boy!”
    A distinguished-looking gentleman beckoned Tony over to the manicured front lawn of No. 15, where he was pruning a trellis of roses with a pair of hedge clippers. It was the same old guy who had stared out the window when the DiMarcos had first arrived.
    â€œHi,” Tony said, extending his hand over the front gate. “I guess we’re neighbors.”
    The old guy just frowned. “I know who you are,” he said. “You’re the one who owns Number Thirteen.”
    â€œWell, no, not personally,” Tony said, pulling his hand back. “My dad inherited the house from his uncle, Angelo DiMarco. Did you know him?”
    â€œ
Half
uncle,” the man scowled. “Your father isn’t a full-blood relation.”
    â€œSure he is,” Tony said. “Our name is DiMarco, just like Zio Angelo’s.”
    â€œThat was Angelo’s adopted name,” the man said. “His real name was Saporiti.”
    â€œAnd you are?” Tony said, not sure where to go with
that
.
    â€œThe name is Benedict Hagmann. Double
n
at the end. I was Angelo’s oldest and dearest childhood friend. So there’s no point in trying to pull the wool over
my
eyes. I know a lot more than you think about the whole situation.”
    â€œWhat situation?” Tony said. But he edged away from the gate, just in case Old Man Hagmann—double
n
at the end—suddenly got a little wild with those clippers.
    â€œAngelo’s bizarre decision to bequeath Number Thirteen to you,” Old Man Hagmann said, “a distant relative by marriage—a
child
he barely knew—as the result of an utterly unexpected and not entirely welcome visit from your father. A visit that took place, I might add, on the very morning of Angelo’s sudden and quite mysterious death.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” Tony stammered.
    â€œI’ve already said more than I should,” Old Man Hagmann sniffed. He lopped a couple of withered roses off the trellis. “But it’s all highly suspicious.”
    â€œI’m, um, late for dinner,” Tony said. Then he hightailed it up the front stoop to No. 13.
    Crazy old fart.
    Hopefully.

URPRISE !”
    The whole family leaped out of hiding. They were wearing corny birthday hats and blowing noisemakers. They had decorated the new—well, not
new
—dining room with crepe-paper streamers. They’d hung a banner from the mantel: HAPPY 13TH, TONY !
    Michael ushered the totally stunned Tony over to the seat of honor at the head of the dining table, where a small stack of presents awaited on a plate. Everyone sat, and Michael started serving up pizza out of delivery boxes. “Pizzeria Regina,” he said. “The oldest in Boston, and it’s just a few streets over. Zio Angelo bought after-school slices from there when
he
was a boy.”He turned to Tony and asked, “Pepperoni with extra cheese or veggie-the-works?”
    â€œNeither,” Julia said, before Tony could answer.
    Right. Those