Glass Walkers are upmarket wolves, so you don't think you'll learn anything talking to skaters and homeless folks. Instead you spend a few minutes in the nearest public bathroom combing your hair and making yourself look aesthetic-punk rather than actually-a-dangerous-drifter-punk, then you hit the brunch crowd.
You don't have any luck at the fancy waffle place or the upscale Chinese restaurant, but when you swing through the lobby of the Hotel Northampton, there's a small consumer electronics meetup on its last morning before everyone heads home.
Not only do you score some free orange juice and as many danishes as you can fit in your pockets, someone there actually knows Daphne Clear.
"—and you'll notice she's not here, bless her," the sharply dressed, hungover-looking woman says as she finishes her third mimosa. "Thinks she's so smart running her little environmentalist racket, making sure no one uses a straw. Those kids who used to hang around were worse though. Louanne, what was the girl's name?"
"Katherine," Louanne says around a mouthful of fruit salad. "Katherine and Elton? They were little shits."
"Were?" you ask.
"She died a few years back, I heard," the first woman says with an apathetic shrug. "Don't know what happened to him. He used to go on whatshisname's radio show to whine about pollution. Daphne's husband—Linus. Before he died, I think they both died." She shakes her head.
The conversation drifts from there, but two people dying young? That's interesting. You know where to go next.
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