Here Mr. Ryan interrupted firmly. "Hold on, Roy, what do you mean it's 'not legal'? You need to be careful when you're making those kinds of serious allegations."

Excitedly Roy explained that the burrowing owls were protected by state and federal laws, and that it was illegal to harm the birds or disturb active burrows without getting special government permits.

"All right. Fine," said Mr. Ryan, "but what does the pancake company have to say about this? I'm sure they got the proper permission-"

"The file is missing," Roy cut in, "and the foreman tried to tell me there weren't any owls on the property, not a single one. Which is a lie."

The class started buzzing again.

"So tomorrow at lunch," Roy continued, "I'm going out there to… well, just because I want the Mother Paula's people to know that somebody in Coconut Cove cares about those birds."

Mr. Ryan cleared his throat. "This is a sticky situation, Roy. I know how upset and frustrated you must feel, but I've got to remind you that students aren't supposed to leave school property."

"Then I'll get a note from my parents," Roy said.

The teacher smiled. "That would be the way to do it." The class was expecting him to say more, but he didn't.

"Look," said Roy, "every day we've been reading about regular people, ordinary Americans who made history 'cause they got up and fought for something they believed in. Okay, I know we're just talking about a few puny little owls, and I know everybody is crazy about Mother Paula's pancakes, but what's happening out there is just plain wrong. So wrong."

Roy's throat was as dry as prairie dust, and his neck felt hot.

"Anyway," he muttered, "it's tomorrow at noon."

Then he sat down.

The classroom fell quiet, a long heavy silence that roared in Roy's ears like a train.

NINETEEN

"I'm worried about the owls," Officer Delinko told Curly.

"What owls?"

Darkness had fallen on the construction site and swallows were swooping back and forth, chasing mosquitoes. Tomorrow was the big day.

"Come on, I saw 'em with my own eyes," the patrolman said. "Isn't there a way to, like, move 'em someplace safe?"

Curly said, "Want my advice? Don't think about it. Put it out of your mind, is what I do."

"I can't. That's the trouble."

Curly jerked a thumb toward the trailer. "You wanna take a break? I rented the new Jackie Chan."

Officer Delinko couldn't understand how the foreman could be so casual about burying the owl dens. He wondered if it was just a macho act. "Did you tell them the birds were out here?" he asked.

"Tell who?"

"The pancake company. Maybe they don't know."

Curly snorted. "You kiddin' me? They know everything," he said. "Look, it ain't our problem. Even if we wanted to, there's nuthin' we could do."

Curly went off to his trailer while Officer Delinko resumed patrolling the grounds. Whenever he passed a burrow, he shined his flashlight inside, but he saw no owls. He hoped the birds had already sensed that something awful was about to happen and had flown away, though it seemed improbable.

Shortly after midnight, Officer Delinko heard Curly come out and shout his name. The foreman claimed he'd been awakened by a noise like someone climbing the fence.

With his gun drawn, the policeman searched the area thoroughly; he checked the roof of the trailer and underneath it, too. All he found was a line of opossum tracks in the sand.

"Sounded way bigger'n a possum," Curly said grumpily.

Later, as Officer Delinko was retrieving his third thermos of coffee from the squad car, he thought he saw a series of small white flashes at the other end of the property. It reminded him of the bright popping he'd seen at late-night car accidents while the police department's photographer was snapping pictures.

But when Officer Delinko ran to where he'd seen the flashes, he found nothing out of the ordinary. It must have been a burst of heat lightning, he thought, reflecting off the low clouds.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. The patrolman stayed wide awake.

At breakfast Roy asked his mother if he could leave school during lunch. He figured she'd be more likely than his father to say yes, but she surprised him.

"I don't know if it's such a good idea for you to go to the Mother Paula's groundbreaking."

"But, Mom-"

"Let's see what your dad thinks."

Oh well, thought Roy, that'll be the end of that.

As soon as Mr. Eberhardt sat down at the table, Mrs. Eberhardt informed him of Roy's request.

"Sure, why not?" Mr. Eberhardt said. "I'll write him a note."

Roy's jaw hung open. He had expected the opposite reaction from his father.

"But you've got to promise to behave," Mr. Eberhardt said, "no matter how ticked off you get."

"I promise, Dad."

Later his father put Roy's bicycle in the trunk of his car and drove Roy to Trace Middle. As he dropped him off in front of the school, Mr. Eberhardt asked, "Think your friend will be at the ceremony today-Beatrice's stepbrother?"

"Probably," Roy said.

"Pretty risky."

"I know, Dad. I tried to tell him."

"You be careful," Mr. Eberhardt said firmly, "and be smart."

"Yes, sir."

Beatrice Leep was waiting outside Roy's homeroom. Her curly hair was damp, as if she'd just gotten out of the shower.

"Well?" she said.

"I got a note. How about you?"

Beatrice displayed a crumpled paper napkin that had been scrawled upon in red ink. "I woke up my old man to ask him. He was so far out of it, he would've signed anything," she said. "I should've written myself a check for a thousand bucks."

"So I guess we're all set for noon," Roy said. He lowered his voice. "I went to see your brother. He threw me out of the truck."

Beatrice shrugged. "What can I say. Sometimes he's impossible."

She fished in her purse and came out with the camera belonging to Roy's mother. "He dropped this off at the house late last night, after Lonna and Dad went to bed. He says he got the pictures you wanted. I tried to take a look but I couldn't figure out how to work the darn thing."

Wordlessly Roy grabbed the camera and stashed it in his locker.

"Keep your fingers crossed," Beatrice said, before melting into the stream of students and disappearing down the hall.

Roy spent the rest of the morning lost in excited distraction, wondering if his plan might actually work.

At ten-forty-five A.M., a black stretch limousine pulled up to the empty lot at Woodbury and East Oriole. The driver got out and opened one of the doors. Nothing happened for several moments, and then a tall man with wavy silver hair emerged, squinting into the sun. He wore pressed white trousers and a dark blue blazer with an emblem on the breast pocket.

The man glanced around impatiently behind enormous tinted sunglasses. Crisply he snapped his fingers at Officer David Delinko, who was unlocking his squad car.

The patrolman failed to notice he was being summoned. He was knocking off work after fourteen straight hours at the construction site-Curly had gone home to shower and shave, so Officer Delinko had stayed to keep an eye on the earthmoving machines, which had been refitted with new seats. Now that the foreman had returned-dressed up in a coat and tie, of all things!-the policeman was leaving the premises. He had no desire to hang around for the groundbreaking nonsense.

"Officer!" The silver-haired man beckoned insistently. "Yo, Officer! Over here."

Officer Delinko approached the limousine and asked what was wrong. The man introduced himself as Chuck E. Muckle, a vice-president of something-or-other for Mother Paula's All-American Pancake Houses, Inc. In a confidential tone, he added, "We need some discreet assistance here."