Chapter Eight
After her shift ended, Gretel bundled up in her blue fake fur shortie coat and her Burberry beret. Even though most of the Olde Salt regulars were crusty fishermen and hardcore drinkers, they’d accepted her as one of them from the very beginning. She liked to amuse them with her outrageous outfits. She rarely paid for her own drinks there, but she’d never felt in any kind of danger.
To them, she was just another drinking buddy—with some extra flair.
She was still all jangled up from her conversation with her mother. She hated this feeling—it made her want to run, to flee, to escape, to get high, to blot out everything and find some fun.
As she scraped off the ice that had formed on the windshield of the old Nissan Frontier the Noonans had given her, she could already tast
