2.00 PM
When Olive sees all the people standing around talking at the footy she goes small, like I did yesterday.
Most of the people smile or wave, and she doesn’t seem to mind those ones so much. But two women hurry over to talk to her. ‘Olive,’ says one of the women, tipping her head to one side and looking sorrowful. ‘You poooor dear thing, we’ve been thinking about you and your poooor father. How are you getting on?’
‘Fine thanks, Mrs Fullerton,’ mumbles Olive.
‘Is there anything we can do to help?’ asks the other woman. ‘Anything at all? You know you just have to ask.’
‘We’re fine. Um – thanks, Mrs Briggs.’
‘We were so fond of your poooor dear mother,’ says Mrs Fullerton. ‘What a lovely woman she was, and what a loss to Little Dismal. You must be heartbroken. We were just saying to each other the other day, poooor Olive must be heartbroken.’
Olive stares at the ground.
‘And is this your pet chook?’ asks Mrs Briggs. ‘What a sweet little thing she is. I’m sure she’s a great comfort—’
A hand stretches out towards me. I’m just about to peck it, as hard as I can, when a voice somewhere behind us cries, ‘Hey, Olive. Over here!’
With a gasp of relief, Olive mumbles, ‘Sorry, I have to go.’ And she runs away to where Digby is sitting on a railing.
‘Thought you might need rescuing,’ he whispers when Olive and I sit down next to him. ‘Aren’t they awful?’
‘Horrible,’ whispers Olive.
Digby nods towards me. ‘Isn’t that Clara? What’s she doing here?’
‘The other chooks were being nasty to her, so she’s come to me for a break,’ says Olive.
‘Good idea,’ says Digby, and he offers Olive some hot chips. ‘Clara,’ he says, ‘would you like some too?’
The three of us perch on the railing, eating chips and watching some humans chase a ball up and down the field. Olive is quiet, but Digby cheers and shouts, ‘Go, Little Dismal!’
Go where? And why? I can understand them chasing the ball, because chasing things is fun. But when they catch it, they don’t eat it!
Humans are strange.
2.15 PM
I thought Olive understood why we were here, but she seems content to sit next to Digby and do nothing at all about Jubilee Crystal Simpson. I try semaphore, but she looks the other way. I try to get her phone out of her pocket so I can give her instructions, but she pushes it deeper.
I’m sure Inspector Garcia never had this sort of trouble.
In the end I have no choice. I set off between the cars and people, searching for Jubilee Crystal Simpson, master criminal. I will do the stake-out myself.
2.30 PM
I find my quarry perched on the bonnet of a yellow car, next to Tracy.
I know all about cars. Some of them are shiny and obedient, and others are old and cranky, and you have to talk to them to make them go anywhere. The Boss’s car is very cranky. ‘Don’t let me down, old girl,’ she says, when she wants it to carry her to town. ‘Start nicely, now. That’s it, that’s the way. Good girl!’
The yellow car isn’t that old, but it’s not new and shiny either. A man is sitting beside it on a folding chair. His Merrycan accent tells me that he is Mr Simpson, Jubilee’s father.
I wonder if he knows about his daughter’s life of crime.
There’s a white car next to the yellow one, and I speak to it politely. ‘Excuse me, car, do you mind if I use you for an observation post?’
The car says nothing, so I creep under it and take a position next to one of its wheels. Then I fix my eye on Jubilee, and wait for her to do something illegal.
2.45 PM
Still waiting.
3.00 PM
Still waiting. Inspector Garcia’s stake-outs usually involve hamburgers, but I don’t have any, so I catch grasshoppers instead.
3.15 PM
When Inspector Garcia does a stake-out, her targets always meet up with someone they shouldn’t, or hide large amounts of cash in a rubbish bin, or dispose of a body. Jubilee Crystal Simpson just sits on the bonnet of the car, talking to Tracy and looking at her phone.
Shouldn’t a master criminal be more interesting than this?
4.30 PM
At last something is happening. A siren blows. Everyone cheers. Mr Simpson folds up his chair and puts it in the boot of the yellow car.
As Tracy walks away, Jubilee hops down from the bonnet – just as the car above my head suddenly roars at me.
I dash out from underneath it, straight across Jubilee’s path. She stumbles and nearly falls. ‘You stupid chook!’ she cries.
No one else seems to hear her over the roar of the car. So I am probably the only one who wonders why, for those three words, she had no Merrycan accent at all.