“Already did,” I said. Her pulse was better, and her color and breathing were good. Not that I was a doctor, but over the years, Dad had drummed a few basics of first aid into most of the family.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” I asked.

“I think my leg’s broken,” she said. “Or at least sprained. I’d get out if it wasn’t for that.”

The police would be here soon, though they seemed to be taking forever. And once they got here, no doubt it would take forever to answer all their questions.

And that bothered me, I realized. Because even though Freddy wasn’t going anywhere, he had known that Dad and Dr. Blake had taken his birds. What if he’d told that to whomever I’d heard him calling, back at the barn? I’d assured Karen that Timmy was safe, but I wasn’t sure Sandie would be a very effective guardian if some truly desperate finch launderer showed up at the house looking for his birds.

I dialed 911 again.

“Debbie Anne?” I said. “We’ve had—”

“Hang on,” she said. “The Chief wants to talk to you.”

And then the chief’s voice broke in.

“What the dickens is going on? Are you still chasing Freddy Hamilton?”

“No,” I said. “He heard sirens ahead of him and tried to turn around, but Karen and Mr. Early and I stopped him.”

“Stopped him how? Did you—Karen? Karen Walker? I thought you hadn’t seen her in days?”

“I hadn’t, but it turned out she was the third car I told Debbie Anne about. She was hiding in Hiram Bass’s Airstream out in the poison ivy jungle. She was injured when Freddy rammed her car—can you send an ambulance?”

“Make that two,” Seth Early said, from out in the road. “I think Freddy banged his head, too—he’s not looking too lively.”

I could hear the chief barking out orders on the other end of the phone.

“Look, chief,” I said. “I need to get home. Timmy—”

“You stay there till I get there!” he snapped, and hung up.

“But what if—”

I stopped myself. I’d just assured Karen that Timmy was safe. I didn’t want to upset her.

Seth Early circled around so he could look in on Karen while still keeping his shotgun pointed at Freddy.

“I can handle things here,” he said. “If you want to take off and check back home.”

“The cops are coming from both directions,” I said. “They won’t let me pass.”

“There’s a dirt road about a quarter mile back,” he said, nodding his head toward Caerphilly. “An old logging road from Civil War days. It’s not on the maps. I doubt if most of the cops even know it exists. You take that till it dead-ends at Route 313, then turn right. Should get you home in no time.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Karen, Mr. Early is going to look after you.”

“That’s right,” he said. Then he paused for a moment, and added. “And that’s Seth. Now go along before those state troopers get here.”