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‘Um, we tried doing that, remember?’ George sighed as I rushed back to my laptop. ‘His Facebook wasn’t public, and you don’t know how to research beyond that.’
‘It’s not the first time I’ve had to find a caveman. But thankfully, the phone book still exists.’
At least, it did online. I hadn’t seen a physical one in years. And thanks to people’s general lack of privacy and self-preservation, I was able to find an address for him in thirty seconds flat. Would’ve been quicker if Theo wasn’t downloading every single video game he’d missed out on in the past couple of years. My dad, resigned to the fact that he was going to be here a while, had bought him an Xbox and PlayStation. We now had two of each in the house, one each for both kids. All I’d been hearing at home were the sounds of their yells and guns shooting all the time. Because I wasn’t already stressed out enough. It’s always fun for little things like that to add to the crap pile.
On the other hand, I hadn’t spoken to my father at all since finding out about my mom. Overall, it was a win.
‘Who are you dressing up as?’
I frowned, thinking. Hannah’s clothes were thrown on my chair, and the clipboard on the floor was giving me an idea. Plus, I was far too lazy to recall all my other personas.
‘Hannah,’ I said, drawing up a new document to clip on the board. George watched through my shoulder.
‘“American Asthma Association.” Is that real?’
‘For their sakes, I hope not.’
‘Alright. What’s your play? Donation money?’
‘I don’t know,’ I hesitated. That was one idea. Another was asking him about his asthma experience. It all depended on what David Schaffer was like, and I wouldn’t know that until I met the guy.
‘Maybe this is a bad idea. We should wait until Leesha gets here. She can fetch Izzy and Izzy can tell us what he looks like.’
‘Alternatively, we can go meet David, find Izzy ourselves, and then have a humongous argument about him.’
‘Well, that does sound more fun,’ he noted dryly.
I printed out my sheet and sighed.
‘Look, I’m not going to do anything stupid. All I want to do is see what the guy looks like. I only know that he was a fat nerd in the 80s. Izzy told me that he’s been in and out of jobs all his life. I thought that was due to depression, but now I’m thinking maybe not. I mean, would a nerd be working with heavy machinery?’
‘No, all nerds work with math and microscopes by law. Also, all drama students work as actors and not baristas, and all jocks end up being quarterbacks.’
Okay, fair point. I kinda had that coming.
‘And you don’t even know what type of heavy machinery it was. It could’ve been a super computer,’ he grinned, giving me a friendly pat.
Another fair point. I was making assumptions again. And you know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass out of you and- wait. I got that wrong.
It’s okay, nobody needs to know.
‘All I’m going to do is knock on his door, pretend to sell something, and then he’ll shut the door in my face. Then, I’ll get a general idea of what I’m dealing with.’
‘So, what you’re saying is, you’re gonna judge the guy based on his appearance?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,’ I nodded. ‘Then, we can figure out how to accuse him of murder.’
‘You’re a terrible person, Ann,’ he told me solemnly.
‘I know!’
David Schaffer lived in a house that looked like... well, any other house I guess. The hell do I know? I don’t know real estate. It had bricks and windows in the places you’d expect. And a front door, which was always a good thing. His garage was closed so he had at least one brain cell in his body, but it meant I couldn’t see what he drove. I whistled at George and gestured to it, and he dutifully woofed and scampered in.
He whistled himself as he trotted out.
‘He’s got a sweet ride in there.’
‘How sweet? Bentley-sweet or like supercar-sweet?’ I asked.
‘Neither,’ he shook his head. ‘He’s the proud owner of a Harley.’
‘Like a bike?’ I clarified.
‘Not only like a bike, it is one. He seems to be a mega fan. I saw all kinds of helmets on the wall, kinda like trophies. I’m guessing this isn’t his first.’
David Schaffer, super-nerd. Had asthma and halitosis. Owned Dungeons and Dragons but couldn’t play it, because he was a loner.
Now owns a Harley.
I’m missing something here.
I re-checked that I had the correct details for him. David Schaffer, early 50s. Lives at this address. There can’t be that many around, surely?
‘Did you see Izzy in there?’ I asked.
‘No, but I didn’t see David, either. I heard him moving about upstairs, so maybe she’s there, too. Want me to go check?’
‘No,’ I frowned.
‘What’s up?’
Nerds can’t own motorcycles. That’s what’s up. Putting it like that, it sounded ridiculous, so I shook off my doubts and headed to his door. I rang the bell and waited, feeling increasingly anxious. Finally, he answered.
Well, a big hulking brute of a man did, anyway.
‘Yes?’ he asked gruffly.
I could do nothing but stare. The guy was over six foot, and probably about four foot wide. His biceps were bigger than my entire body. He was wiping a dirty rag on his hands full of a black liquid I assumed to be gasoline. How the hell had he changed so much in thirty years?
Even George was baffled. He let himself in and wandered through the walls as I struggled to think of words.
‘What do you want?’
‘David Schaffer?’ I whispered.
‘Yes?’
‘Did you go to Dayton High School back in the eighties?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have asthma?’ I asked, and he slowly stopped wiping his rag and glanced at my clipboard.
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘What are you selling?’
‘I’m from the American Asthma-’
‘Not interested,’ he barked, and shut the door in my face. Like I was expecting him to do.
But not really.
Dazed and confused, I shuffled back to the safety of my car and waited for George to return. When he did, he didn’t look half as confused as me.
‘He’s been painting figures.’
‘Numbers?’ I asked, thinking he had a backstreet garage or something.
‘What? No, like action figures. Miniatures. You know, tabletop games?’
Like Dungeons and Dragons. Okay, so he was still a nerd.
But again, not really.
‘Are you alright?’ George probed.
‘No, everything is wrong.’
I was supposed to feel sorry for this guy. For the past six or seven years, I have been told that he is a loser and someone I should take pity on. I hadn’t helped Izzy as much as I probably should’ve done, based purely on that belief. He’s supposed to be broken. He’s meant to be the little bullied kid that I could maybe relate to.
But he’d grown up. And I really hadn’t seen that coming.
Maybe it’s because Izzy didn’t grow up, I don’t know. She’s still the Queen Bee in her mind, so David is still the loser. I never thought to actually question that. It’s tiring, second-guessing everybody all the time. I’d rather just take what they say for granted and deal with the inevitable fallout later. Much more simple.
But now I’m left with David.
I have been utterly thrown for a loop.
‘He’s not like I thought he’d be,’ I said cautiously. George nodded vigorously.
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like we thought he was trash, and he ends up being a boss.’
‘I have no idea what you just said,’ I replied. ‘But maybe I got this wrong, you know? Maybe he’s the wrong David Schaffer.’
‘You think there were two of them at that school at the same time?’
‘Maybe. Maybe he’s a twin!’ I shouted excitedly.
‘Again, you think there are two David Schaffers?’
Oh yeah, that wouldn’t make sense. But I had to have the wrong guy. I just had to.
‘Maybe. I don’t know. Stranger things have happened,’ I said wistfully, eyeing up his house one last time. I accidentally caught sight of Izzy in an upstairs window. She seemed furious, and jumped down to no doubt enrage me in some way. Smoothly, I switched on the ignition and headed home.
Okay, so it was the right David Schaffer.
‘You can’t outrun her forever, you know,’ George called out, watching her run after my car.
‘I know. But I’d really rather shout at ghosts in the privacy of my own home. Besides,’ I said, peering at another slinking ghost in my rear-view. ‘Leesha looks a little sheepish back there. I’m guessing she’s spilled the beans.’