“My youngest sisters are on a team in the local roller derby league,” Charlie told her as the light changed. She flashed a smile at a very pissed-off cabbie trapped behind the red, the only car in sight, and started across the street. “Gale Force Eleven and Gale Force Twelve. Our last name is Gale,” Charlie added as both Gary and Sheryl looked confused. “Gale force eleven is a violent storm, twelve is a hurricane.”

“Isn’t Roller Derby a little . . . dangerous?”

Not as much as staking vampires in the Paris catacombs. Or beheading zombies in New Orleans. Or whatever the hell they’d been up to in Peru before Auntie Jane got a call from an old friend and sent Charlie to haul their butts home.

“Please,” she snorted, “it’s Canadian Roller Derby. It’s all ‘sorry about the kidney shot and excuse me, coming through.’”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. This is where we turn.” Gary pointed west at the barely visible sign for a public parking lot. “You’re . . .”

“Still heading north.” She could feel trees on the other side of the big brick church. “Best of luck following the dream.” As there’d been enough beer and music for hugs, Charlie took the opportunity to trace a charm on the bouzouki case, protecting the instrument within from rough handling, sudden changes in the weather, and cat urine.

“If we’re in Calgary . . .” Gary grinned, all of them aware of how unlikely that would be. “. . . we’ll be sure to . . .”

“Brush Up Your Shakespeare” rang out from Charlie’s pocket. “It was gangster Shakespeare or Katy Perry,” she explained, pulling out the phone.

Gary laughed. “Good choice.” They waved as she unlocked it, Gary’s arm around Sheryl’s shoulders as they walked away.

Charlie half expected the overture from Man of La Mancha to follow them down the street, but when the silence remained unbroken except for a squeal of tires from the passing cab, she turned her attention to her phone. “Katie?”

Katie sighed with enough force Charlie almost felt it. “You hung up on Allie.”

“I was . . .”

“Don’t care. Every stoplight in Calgary has been red for the last four hours.”

Charlie checked her watch—2:15 AM EST—and rounded back. “It’s 11 PM in Calgary.”

“Yes, and four hours ago it was 7 PM and traffic’s been a complete bitch. I’m only grateful you waited until after the evening commute. Do you know why all the stoplights have been red for the last four hours? Why I’ve been here instead of spending the evening in the park with David? Because you hung up on Allie.”

“Graham . . .”

“Graham got threatened with an ice cream scoop, decided discretion was the better part of valor, and spent the evening down in the store.”

“An ice cream scoop?”

“She couldn’t find the melon baller; not the point. The point is, you hung up on her.”