The first thing Brittany did when Quinn and Santana joined her at the library table was plop a large roll of paper in front of them and unfurl it. It was covered in names, with colored arrows running between them.

"What's... this?" Quinn asked, already feeling dizzy just looking at it.

"I thought we'd have better luck if we had something that told us what our gossip resources are, so I made a chart," Brittany said crisply, with a touch of pride. "See, here in the center is us." She pointed in the middle of the paper, where wallet-sized pictures of the three cheerleaders were pasted on. "The red arrows show who has dirt on who. The green arrows show who is friendly with who. This way, we can figure out the best plan of attack that'll get us as much information as we can in a short time."

"So what do the rainbow stickers mean?" Santana asked.

"Nothing. I just thought they were pretty."

There was a moment of silence as they looked over the dense, complex chart.

"You're awesome," Santana said, her voice hushed in awe.

"I know," Brittany said smugly.

"Not bad," Quinn said with an approving nod. "First thing I see is that we have a few bottlenecks when it comes to getting to the faculty."

Brittany frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I noticed that. But I think we can use Justin Ross being Mr. Gatlin's teacher's pet. We can get to both the English department and the arts department from there."

"Is Justin still dating Francine Quinlan?"

"No, but they're still friends," Santana said. "And Brenda Mackie knows Justin's brother Andy."

"But isn't he a freshman? What good are they?"

"Well, he's in a club with both Myra Stewart and Charlie Dutton — and the faculty advisor is Miss Harmon."

"Ohhhh." Quinn nodded in understanding. "I don't think that's enough, though. If we just had something on Hanna Walters, we could use her to get to Mr. Thorpe..."

"I know her bestie. Would that help?"

The three cheerleaders froze for a second, because none of them spoke just then. They slowly turned to see Rachel standing behind them, smiling brightly.

"Can we help you?" Santana asked, annoyed.

"Actually, you should be asking me that. Then I'd answer yes." Without so much as a hint of an invitation, she sat down at the table across from the Cheerios.

"And why," Quinn said acidly, "do we need you?"

Rachel whipped a pen seemingly out of nowhere. "Because I..." She drew her name on the chart; Brittany glared. "... Also know Cynthia Griffin... Who is tight with Damon Sanchez... Who is a student manager for... Coach Hill!" She finished her arrows triumphantly. The other three girls stared at the new connections. "Here's where my membership in so many clubs comes in very handy — for someone besides me, I mean. Now, you can swallow your pride and let me help, or you can do without the extra information and run the risk of failing, and having to tell everyone else that your 'connections' weren't as good as you thought." Rachel shrugged casually. "Your choice, but I personally think you should take all the help you can get."

Quinn, Santana, and Brittany looked at each other. Then they looked back down at the chart. Then back at each other.

Finally...

"Fine. But we're in charge of this. Got it?" Quinn growled.

"Oh, I wouldn't have it any other way!" Rachel said cheerfully. "I fully acknowledge that the three of you are much more central to the McKinley web of gossip than I am."

"Okay, then," Brittany said, a serious look on her face. "What else have you got?"

As Rachel started talking again, and filling in more names and arrows, none of the four were aware of the ominous presence watching them from the shadows. Perhaps this was fortunate — they might have faltered in their quest had they sensed the chilly eyes boring into them.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

Tina groaned, her forehead bumping against the steering wheel. "Yes, I'm sure. Stop asking me already!"

"Well, I sure don't know how to tail someone!" Mercedes said.

"I've seen a hundred TV shows. How hard could it be? Nobody expects people to be following them anyway!" She glanced back at the supermarket across the street where they'd tracked Mrs. Tomlin. Her car was still parked where she'd left it.

"And what are we supposed to find out, anyway?"

"I don't know! But nobody knows much about Mr. or Mrs. Tomlin, right? We have to start somewhere!" Tina looked back just in time to see the brake lights flare on Mrs. Tomlin's car. "She's on the move!" she gasped in excitement as she started up the engine.

The two girls watched the shiny silver Ford Escape turn left out of the parking lot. Tina pulled away from the curb and followed.

"You're too close!"

"I am not!"

"She's gonna see us!"

"Why the hell would she notice us?"

"You should let another car come between us in case she sees us!"

"But then we might lose her!"

"Hey, slow down! You trying to get us pulled over?"

"Ohmigod, I should've made you drive..."

Somehow, they made it ten miles without crashing, killing each other, or Mrs. Tomlin pulling over and demanding to know what they were doing. They actually followed the Escape without incident into one of Lima's ritzier neighborhoods.

"Whoa..." Mercedes breathed as they passed through rows of neatly manicured lawns and dazzling white facades. "Did you know Mr. Tomlin lived here?"

"No! I thought you had to have a lot of money to afford a house around here!"

"Well, they can." Mercedes nodded ahead of them; the Escape was entering a driveway half a block up.

Tina pulled over. "What does Mrs. Tomlin do?"

"I asked around. As far as anybody knows, she's been staying at home so she can have her baby."

"And Mr. Tomlin could still afford to live here? Is he from a rich family or something?"

"I don't know..." Mercedes turned to Tina excitedly. "Do you think we've found out a clue?"

"Oooh, I hope so!" Tina squealed. "Let's go; everyone will definitely wanna hear about this!"

"Hey."

"Hey."

The somewhat embarrassing part of this plan was that Finn actually was having a tough time keeping his chemistry grade up. Ah, well, whatever it took, right? At least it made for a good excuse.

Mike slid onto the chair next to Finn. The two looked over their shoulders to Ms. Witten, who was sitting at her desk behind them reading over papers.

"Take all the time you need, boys," she said without looking up at them. "Especially you, Finn."

"So you ready to go over the last chapter?" Mike asked. He watched as Finn surreptitiously pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. He turned on the camera and placed the phone on the lab table in front of them, carefully angling it so it just caught Ms. Witten's image next to Finn's shoulder.

"Yeah..." He coughed. "So, uh... pretty fucked what happened to Mr. Tomlin, huh?"

Mike winced. He knew they should've practiced their lines more. But he could see on the phone screen that Ms. Witten's eyes actually flickered upward towards them, and he knew they had her. "Yeah... Who do you think did it?"

"Hell if I know. Mrs. Fletcher says that she doesn't think it was some random burglar."

And yes, she was definitely staring at them now, behind their backs. Mike could see her crane her neck to hear them better.

She knows something. Or she really wants to know something.

Mike felt Finn's elbow nudge his side, snapping him out of his speculation to deliver his line: "Then who does she think did it, then?"

"I dunno, she wouldn't say."

"Why would someone want to kill Mr. Tomlin, anyway?"

"No idea. Mrs. Fletcher says the police are probably going over his life with a fine toothed comb trying to figure it out. If there is anyone who wanted to kill him, they'll figure it out."

The phone's camera reflected Ms. Witten's hand as it closed into a fist, crinkling the papers she was holding. Mike couldn't help but grin. Bingo. They got what they wanted; whatever Ms. Witten knew or didn't know, whatever she did or didn't do, she definitely had more interest in this than just as a random colleague of the victim.

Finn flashed a thumbs-up under the table. Mike returned it triumphantly.

Finn turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket. He started to rise from his seat.

"Hey!" Mike hissed. "Where are you going?"

"Home. We did what we came for."

"Oh, no you don't! Your chem grade really does suck, and as long as we're here, we might as well actually study."

Finn boggled. "What?!"

"If we just leave, Ms. Witten will get suspicious, right? Now sit your ass back down and open your damn book!"

Finn looked like he was on the verge of pouting as he slammed his textbook open. "You owe me."

"I think you're the one who'll owe me." Mike settled in. "Puck should be looking into Coach right now. Wonder how he's doing..."

Puck ripped open Tanaka's desk drawer and started rummaging.

"I thought you said you had some kind of genius plan!" Matt said nervously as he glanced out of the office door, eyes peeled for the coach's return.

"I do! This is it! Didn't Mrs. Fletcher say we gotta play to our strengths? This is mine!" He began rifling through papers.

"What do you expect to find? 'Dear diary, today I shot Mr. Tomlin'?"

"You got a better idea?" Puck snapped. "You think either of us are smart enough to get Coach talking? Besides, we gotta do something."

"I am doing something. Derek just hasn't gotten back to me yet."

"The guys I talked to haven't either. So we just gotta do what we can."

"Shit!" Matt barked. "He's coming!"

Puck immediately shoved what he was looking at back into the drawer and slammed it shut. The two boys ducked out the door connecting to the locker room. Matt started to pull it closed, but paused, then left it open a crack. He and Puck huddled behind the door, listening, as two sets of footsteps entered the office.

"I'm sorry, Ken, but I had to ask!"

"That's Ms. Pillsbury!" Puck hissed.

"Shh!"

"I can't believe you think I had something to do with—!" Something that sounded like paper slammed onto the surface of the desk. "Why the hell don't you trust me? Do you honestly think I would actually kill—"

"No, don't be ridiculous!"

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I had to be sure! Because it would've been even more poisonous to just let the question hang between us!"

There was a dead silence. "You know," Tanaka said in an eerily calm voice, "you're right. We should be honest with each other."

Ms. Pillsbury breathed a sigh of relief. "That's right..."

"So why don't I ask you the same question?" There was an edge of venomous glee in Tanaka's voice. "Did you...?"

"Me?!" There were so many conflicting emotions crammed into the one word that neither Puck nor Matt had any idea how to unravel them.

"What if you had enough? What if you decided you wanted to be left alone once and for all?"

Behind the cracked open door, Puck and Matt exchanged wide eyed glances.

"You actually think that I—"

"Of course not! But at least now you know how I felt when you asked me!"

They heard a choking sound come from Ms. Pillsbury's throat. A long, drawn out silence followed, but nobody moved — not the people inside the office or the two outside it. Finally, Emma Pillsbury said in a weak, strained tone, "I... I think I need to go home, Ken."

Chair legs scraped across linoleum. "Did you want me to drive you...?" Tanaka's voice was quieter now, almost remorseful.

"N-no... We've had a rough couple of days. I think... I think we just need some time alone to cool down."

"Yeah..." Now his voice was almost a whisper. "Cool down... Right..."

"I..." Gulp. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ken."

The other door creaked open and snapped shut. There was no further sound, except Tanaka's reedy breaths and the creak of a chair. Puck and Matt glanced at each other and nodded, carefully picking themselves up and sneaking away.