Unfortunately, Ginger promptly loses her sale -- The Shat still shills for Priceline in this reality, evidently -- and she hangs up her phone to start digging around in her purse for her keys, which of course aren't there. Growing increasingly confused, she first pats down her pockets before spinning around in her desk chair to scan the credenza -- atop which is perched a particularly perilous vase of tulips, just so you know -- eventually finding her keys where Blondie left them. Ginger frowns to herself, but rises nevertheless from her chair to pick them up, in the process of course setting off this evening's next, albeit far shorter, Goldbergian sequence of events. In bending over, Ginger inadvertently bumps up against the credenza, which sends the vase toppling over onto the copier, which immediately sparks and zots and starts freaking out, which means Ginger must reach across the copier in a desperate attempt to unplug the thing, which means that Isadora Duncan-length scarf of hers? Gets sucked into the copier's intake tray. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Well, actually, not so much, as she's just choking to death at the present moment. "Rats!" I feel your pain, friend of friends, but on the upside, we do get a lovely bit of petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
And as Ginger slumps over, dead, Blondie steps back into the frame with a smugly pleased little smile on her face. She opens her ledger and flips the thing's tasseled bookmark forward, allowing a thin braid of gold to detach itself from the bookmark to float to the floor as Blondie draws a careful line through the ledger's entry for "Anne Witting." With that done, Blondie efficiently flips her ledger closed to march straight into this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP!
We return from the commercials to find Our Intrepid Heroes already making with the flashlight-fu in Dead Ginger's former office. Dean confirms the recently deceased travel agent's proper name, and the boys note for the audience's benefit that Dead Ginger was not, in fact, related to the various Russo cousins whose grisly and inventive deaths kicked this investigation into high gear in the first place. This time around, it's Eagle-Eyed Dean's turn to spot the thin braid of gold lying on the agency's floorboards, and with that piece of evidence in hand, Sam and Dean retire to...
...their tastefully appointed suite at the White Star Motel, where Dean calls up Ellen back in South Dakota for a consult while Sam deploys his mad Googling skillz in the far blurry background of the shot. Long story short, the thin braids of gold connect the latest two deaths with a string of at least seventy-five others across the country, including a cluster the never-seen Jo's currently working on out in California. While many of the people involved were indeed related to each other, almost as many of the victims were not, though as Ellen notes, they all did share one odd common point of reference: All of their ancestors came to the United States in the same year, on the same boat. "The Titanic," Ellen eventually remembers, after riffling through her mental files for a bit. "Ever hear of it?" she asks. Dean has not. Which, you know, doesn't mean a lot given how stupid he so often is, so we'll skip ahead to the part wherein Dean asks if Super-Smart Sammy has ever heard of the ship. Sam hasn't, either, so I guess this development actually does rate a DUN! of its own after all. DUN!