His father shook his head. "Nope."

Roy was exultant but also puzzled. "Dad, shouldn't you be giving this to somebody at the Justice Department? Why do you want me to hand it over to the newspaper?"

"Because there's something there that everybody in Coconut Cove ought to know." Mr. Eberhardt spoke in a hushed and confidential tone. "Actually, it's what isn't there that's important."

"Tell me," Roy said, and his father did.

When Roy opened the front door again, Kelly Colfax was waiting with a perky smile. "Can we continue our interview?"

Roy smiled brightly in return. "Sorry, but I'm running real late for school." He held out the file. "Here. This might help with your story."

The reporter tucked her notebook under one arm and snatched the folder from Roy's hands. As she thumbed through the documents, the elation on her face dissolved into frustration.

"What does all this stuff mean, Roy? What exactly am I looking for?"

"I think it's called an E.I.S.," Roy said, reciting what his father had told him.

"Which stands for…?"

"Environmental Impact Statement."

"Right! Of course," the reporter said. "Every big construction project is supposed to do one. That's the law."

"Yeah, but Mother Paula's E.I.S. isn't in there."

"You're losing me, Roy."

"It's supposed to be in that file," he said, "but it's not. That means the company never did one-or they lost it on purpose."

"Ah!" Kelly Colfax looked as if she'd just won the lottery. "Thank you, Roy," she said, embracing the folder with both arms as she backed down the steps. "Thank you very, very much."

"Don't thank me," Roy said under his breath. "Thank my dad." Who obviously cared about the owls, too.

EPILOGUE

During the following weeks, the Mother Paula's story mushroomed into a full-blown scandal. The missing Environmental Impact Statement made the front page of the Gazette and ultimately proved to be the fatal blow to the pancake-house project.

It turned out that a thorough E.I.S. had been completed, and that the company's biologists had documented three mated pairs of burrowing owls living on the property. In Florida the birds were strictly protected as a Species of Special Concern, so their presence on the Mother Paula's site would have created serious legal problems-and a public-relations disaster-if it had become widely known.

Consequently, the Environmental Impact Statement conveniently disappeared from the city files. The report later turned up in a golf bag owned by Councilman Bruce Grandy, along with an envelope containing approximately $4,500 in cash. Councilman Grandy indignantly denied that the money was a bribe from the pancake people; then he rushed out and hired the most expensive defense lawyer in Fort Myers.

Meanwhile, Kimberly Lou Dixon quit her TV role as Mother Paula, declaring she couldn't work for a company that would bury baby owls just to sell a few flapjacks. The climax of her tearful announcement came when she displayed her life membership card from the Audubon Society-a moment captured by Entertainment Tonight, Inside Hollywood, and People magazine, which also published the picture of Kimberly Lou, Roy, and Beatrice hand-in-hand at the owl protest.

It was more media attention than Kimberly Lou Dixon had received as the Miss America runner-up, or even as the future star of Mutant Invaders from Jupiter Seven. Roy's mother kept track of the actress's soaring career in the show business columns, where it was reported that she'd signed a deal to appear in the next Adam Sandler movie.

By contrast, the owl publicity was a nightmare for Mother Paula's All-American Pancake Houses, Inc., which found itself the subject of an unflattering frontpage article in the Wall Street Journal. Immediately, the price of the company's stock began sinking like a stone.

After going wacko at the groundbreaking ceremony, Chuck E. Muckle got demoted to the post of assistant junior vice-president. Although he did not go to jail for choking the newspaper reporter, he was forced to take a class called "How to Manage Your Anger," which he failed. Soon afterward, he resigned from the pancake company and took a job as a cruise director in Miami.

In the end, Mother Paula's had no choice but to abandon its plan to put a restaurant on the corner of East Oriole and Woodbury. There were the nagging headlines about the missing E.I.S., the embarrassing resignation of Kimberly Lou Dixon, the TV footage of Chuck Muckle throttling Kelly Colfax… and, last but not least, those darn owls.

Everybody was upset about the owls.

NBC and CBS sent film crews to Trace Middle School to meet with the student protesters, as well as with faculty members. Roy lay low, but he later heard from Garrett that Miss Hennepin had given an interview in which she praised the kids who took part in the lunchtime protest and claimed she'd encouraged them to participate. Roy was always amused when grownups lied to make themselves look more important.

He wasn't watching TV that evening, but his mother burst in to report that Tom Brokaw was talking about him and Beatrice on the network news. Mrs. Eberhardt led Roy to the living room just in time to hear the president of Mother Paula's promise to preserve the Coconut Cove property as a permanent sanctuary for burrowing owls and to donate $50,000 to the Nature Conservancy.

"We want to assure all our customers that Mother Paula's remains strongly committed to protecting our environment," he said, "and we deeply regret that the careless actions of a few former employees and contractors may have put these unique little birds in jeopardy."

"What a crock," Roy muttered.

"Roy Andrew Eberhardt!"

"Sorry, Mom, but the guy's not telling the truth. He knew about the owls. They all knew about the owls."

Mr. Eberhardt muted the television set. "Roy's right, Lizzy. They're just covering their butts."

"Well, the important thing is you did it," Roy's mother told him. "The birds are safe from the pancake people. You should feel great about that!"

"I do," Roy said, "but it wasn't me who saved the owls."

Mr. Eberhardt came over and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You got the word out, Roy. Without you, nobody would've known what was happening. Nobody would have showed up to protest the bulldozing."

"Yeah, but it all started because of Beatrice's stepbrother," Roy said. "He's the one who should've been on Peter Brokaw or whatever. The whole thing was his idea."

"I know, honey," Mrs. Eberhardt said, "but he's gone."

Roy nodded. "Sure looks that way."

Mullet Fingers had lasted less than forty-eight hours under the same roof with Lonna, who'd spent most of that time on the telephone trying to drum up more TV interviews. Lonna had been counting on her son to keep the Leep family in the limelight, which is the last place he wanted to be.

With Beatrice's assistance, the boy had snuck out of the house while Lonna and Leon were arguing about a new dress that Lonna had purchased for seven hundred dollars in anticipation of appearing on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Nobody from Oprah's program ever called Lonna back, so Leon had demanded that she return the dress and get a full refund.

When the Leeps' shouting reached the same approximate decibel level as a B-52, Beatrice lowered her stepbrother out a bathroom window. Unfortunately, a nosy neighbor had mistaken the escape for a burglary in progress and had notified the police. Mullet Fingers made it only two blocks before speeding patrol cars surrounded him.

Lonna had been furious to learn her son was up to his old runaway tricks. Out of spite, she told the officers that he'd stolen a valuable toe ring from her jewelry box, and demanded that he be locked up in juvenile detention to teach him a lesson.