After about half an hour, we have become true sleuths. Well, after a 20 minute period of distraction. In our defense, a lot of the earlier posts on the account were pretty funny… and distracting.
"Okay, okay. Time to focus," I say.
"But this one—"
"No," I put my palm up.
LeAnn places the phone back on the countertop, focusing on me.
"Let's go back to the first post," Cas sighs exasperatedly.
"What more can we find out from this?" Claire asks, while sipping on a juice box.
"Anybody have Matt's number?" I ask.
Seconds later, LeAnn's putting on her sweetest smile and tone while on the phone with Matt Driscoll. When she commits to a part, she commits.
We enlisted her to the position because, historically, guys have been less immune to her charms—she could get Matt to do whatever she wanted, if she said the right things.
"Mmhmm, yeah, Matt. You're so funny," she says brightly. If he didn't know any better, which he doesn't, he'd think she was all over him, truly affected by everything he said.
LeAnn's powers can be dangerous if used properly.
"Remember that little thing? You know, that thing about you and Derek in the close—" LeAnn cuts off.
"What happened?" I whisper yell.
She shrugs, "He hung up. It was the dial tone."
"He must have heard you about to say 'closet,' and just completely shut down," I guessed. I had to be right. He's still ashamed over something that happened over 4 years ago.
"He can't still be in the closet," Claire mutters dryly.
"Maybe that's not it. Maybe the embarrassment of being outted without his consent is what pissed him off the most," Cas says.
After Claire's joke failed to land, we pondered the turn of events. Matt probably remembers that day vividly, more than we ever could. His reputation fell apart that day, and all we remember it as is some scandal.
We might have to contact Derek if Matt will no longer be a resource. Although Matt is bi, and can still be swayed with feminine wiles, Derek is gay, and there is only one way I can get to him—fashion.
Not in that stereotypical way… he's just actually passionate about fashion.
"Oh," Cas pipes up, "it says here, on his twitter feed, that he's at Frankie's Thrift Shop in Manhattan. He's looking for fabrics to make a retro quilt or something."
She lowers the phone and sighs. "Who's up for a drive to the city?"
I notice she seems a little down. Her usually slick low bun is frizzy, her shoes are not coordinated with her outfit, and I think her lip gloss shade changed from her usual nude matte. These things seem small, but they are monumental for Cas. She takes pride in her appearance.
Shortly, we're all piled in my car, steadily approaching the city. After all of Claire's protests about driving into the city, she seems pretty comfortable now, asleep in the backseat.
"Hey," I say.
"Hmm?" Cas looks up from her phone.
"What's up?"
"Uh, nothing," she shrugs, looking back down at her phone. She's swiping mindlessly at nothing in particular. She's doing that thing where you pretend to be immersed in something on your screen, just to avoid an awkward situation. I guess acknowledging it makes it more awkward…
"Cas," I warn, "I know you, and 'nothing' is never nothing."
She sighs.
"How many times until you spit it out?" I ask.
She purses her lips, struggling to contain a smile. "Fine. Nick and I broke things off."
I face the road without shifting my expression.
"That's how I thought you'd react," she taps a fingernail against her phone screen.
"What are you talking about?"
"Just… indifferent. With that I told you so look," she explains.
"I did not say 'I told you so,'" I hold my palms up in defense.
"You didn't say anything."
"I didn't want to upset you. But also, I mean, you hooked up with him at a college party, where I'm sure drugs were in use."
Smoke is practically pouring out of her ears at this point. "Almost everyone hooked up at that party. Also, it was a classy event, not a college party. And everyone does recreational drugs once or twice in their youth."
I can't tell if this is satire or if she's serious. "That's an oxymoron, and I honestly cannot tell whether you're serious or not."
"You do this all the time. You get that disapproving tone and that holier than thou attitude—"
"No, you do this all the time. You try so hard—"
"Who's trying hard?" she crosses her arms.
I continue, "You try so hard to fit in and mesh with people whose approval you don't fucking need!"
I didn't even realize how loud I was being. LeAnn's gaze shifts to the rearview mirror to see what the noise was about.
I take a deep breath. "The only reason I come off as disapproving or whatever is because I care about you, Cas. I worry when you meet up with random guys, such as Nick, and do crazy shit."
She just huffs and taps her thighs. "Could you at least be sympathetic?"
Resigned, I sigh. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that. Did he do it over text or a phone call?"
She chuckles, "He emailed me actually."
Bastard.
Once we reach the weather-beaten doorway of Frankie's, we see him in the back, arguing with a store clerk. Well, he might not have been actually arguing, but the fact that his voice is always set to 100 makes it seem like it.
"I need soft teals, pale pinks, BEIGE," he wails.
"Mmhmm," the clerk nods.
"I'm creating a retro quilt, not a disco blanket from the 80's," he slowly lowers his head onto the counter with a pained expression.
Claire hands him a mute green patch. "Maybe we can help with that."
He pops his head up, astonished. "What? I've been searching through this shithole for hours." He grabs the fabric square like a child grabs at a bag of candy.
"You're welcome," Cas inserts, with a not too welcoming smile, which doesn't reach her eyes.
He just keeps lining the new fabric up with his old finds, gauging where he could sew it in. The store clerk sends us a look, saying This is how he's been all day. Also, I fuckin hate this job.
Now, how can we successfully make a segue to our mission.
Cas pipes up, "We heard you're still fucking with Matt."
She's usually inappropriate and intrusive, so this doesn't raise any alarms. She crosses her arms and smirks at him.
"Yeah, and whomever else we please," he bites back.
Hmm, open relationship.
"Remember when you guys were hooking up in that supply closet?" she asks. May I add that Cas is too forward for her own good?
"Yeah," he replies nonchalantly. They're literally the same person.
"Who took the picture?"
"We don't know," he says pointedly, as if he's been asked before.
"We?" Claire asks.
He looks over at her with his eyebrows furrowed. "Matt and me. We're hooking up, and before we know it, the whole student body has pictures. Whoever did it forced him to come out."
I sigh. Our cover is blown. We might as well just come clean. "We're trying to find out who runs clarenton secrets."
He straightens, pondering something for a second. Suddenly, he bursts into laughter. "Good luck." Derek turns around and continues lining the fabrics up. He's done talking.
After a much needed ice cream break, we plop down onto a park bench and go over the day's events.
"So, we're stuck at square one," LeAnn says.
"You know what? I hate that phrase: square one," I sneer. It just sounds so hopeless.
"And we have no more leads for now," Cas says.
Time to give up this Nancy Drew act.