Gary waved from the stage, his smile managing to express small world and the hell? simultaneously. Not a bad trick.

“I see you got some blues back.” One arm around her shoulders, Toby ruffled his other hand through her hair. “Last pics you posted, you were au natural again.”

Given Auntie Catherine, Dan, falling rocks, millions who might or might not be dying, and Jack, Charlie’d forgotten all about the color she’d streaked into her hair. “Something, something about swearing a blue streak; I can’t be arsed to find the clever.”

“Well, if you’re heading back to the hard stuff, for God’s sake, take me with you. I love Frosty like a brother, but he thinks “Whiskey in the Jar” is rock and roll. Do you know what keyboards involve in a folk/Celtic/roots/trad band, Charlie?” They’d reached the edge of the stage, and Toby nodded toward the Excalibur Double Crown tucked up against the side of his amp stack. “I am white America’s worst nightmare; a big black man with an accordion. The only way it could be worse was if I was also Muslim and played the banjo. Hey, Frosty!”

An older, heavyset man with the ubiquitous gray ponytail and a Fender bass turned toward them.

“George Frost, of Frost on the Windows, Charlie Gale just passing through. Charlie plays killer lead, doesn’t suck on vocals, and when she was twenty-two, she drank Benji Cheung under the table.”

“In fairness,” Charlie pointed out. “Benji was stoned at the time.”

“When wasn’t he?” George snorted. “You looking for a job, Charles?”

“No, like Toby says, I’m just passing through. Heard the music, thought I’d come see what was up.” Gary had knelt to put his bouzouki in the case. He was listening, but he hadn’t come any closer. Charlie couldn’t figure out a graceful way of blowing Toby off or, more significantly, blowing George off to go talk to him. Burning bridges with someone who actually managed to put a band together and find paying gigs in the current economy would be beyond a stupid idea.

“You know what pulled our audience?”

She shrugged, shoulders moving under Toby’s arm. “Looks like all the windows blew out on an old house.”

“Gas leak?”

“How should I know? Freaky thing is, there’s teddy bears all over the lawn.”

“Freakier when they were in the windows,” Toby muttered.

“True that,” George allowed. He checked his watch. “Well, we were supposed to go to four and then on again at eight for the street party—looks like that’s fucked. I think I’d better go find Morris Winchester and find out what’s what. Toby, you’re with me.”

“Should I bring the accordion?”