"I don't like this at all, Daphne," Sabrina said as she wiped off the last of the dog's goo. "Don't get used to this place. We're not going to be here long."
"Stop being a snot," Daphne said as she laid a huge smooch on Elvis. Snot was her favorite word lately. "She wouldn't hurt us. She's nice."
"That's why crazy people are so dangerous. You think they're nice until they're chaining you up in the garage," Sabrina replied. "And I am not being a snot."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are," Daphne insisted. "Anything is better than living at the orphanage, right?"
Daphne had a point. Sabrina walked over and examined the photograph the old woman claimed was of the girls' father. The rosy-cheeked baby in the photo seemed to stare back at her.
? ? ?
Mr. Canis had cleared the big oak dining room table of enough books for everyone to eat comfortably. He had left an exceptionally thick volume entitled Architecture for Pigs on Daphne's chair so the little girl could reach her dinner. As they waited patiently for Mrs. Grimm, who was still making a thunderous racket in die kitchen, Mr. Canis closed his eyes and sat silently. Soon, his stillness began to unnerve Sabrina. Was he a mute? Was there something wrong with him? In New York City, everyone talked, or rather, everyone yelled at everyone, all the time. They never sat quietly with their eyes closed when people were around. It was rude.
"I think he's dead," Daphne whispered after staring at him for some time.
Suddenly, Mrs. Grimm came through the door with a big copper pot and placed it on the table. She rushed back into the kitchen and returned with a plate of salad and set it in front of Mr. Canis. As soon as the plate hit the table the old man opened his eyes and began to eat.
"How did you know I like spaghetti? It's my favorite!" Daphne said happily.
"I know lots of things about you, liebling. I am your oma," Mrs. Grimm replied.
"Oma?” Sabrina asked. "What's this weird language you keep speaking?"
"It means grandmother in German. That's where our family is from," Mrs. Grimm answered.
"My family is from New York City," Sabrina said stiffly.
The old woman smiled a sad smile. "Your mama sent me letters from time to time. I know a great deal about you both. In fact, when I stopped getting them I knew that ..." She sighed.
"That they'd abandoned us?" Sabrina snapped. Suddenly, Sabrina felt as if she might burst into tears. She ducked her head, fighting their escape down her cheeks.
"Child, your mother and father didn't abandon you," Mrs. Grimm cried.
"Mrs. Grimm, I —" Daphne began.
"Liebling, I'm not Mrs. Grimm. I'm your grandmother," the old woman said. "You can call me Grandma or Oma, but never Mrs. Grimm, please."
"Can we call you Granny? I always wanted a granny," said Daphne. Sabrina kicked her sharply under the table and the little girl winced.
"Of course, I'll be your Granny Relda," the old woman said with a smile, as she took the top off the pot.
Sabrina stared inside. She had never seen spaghetti like this. The noodles were black and the sauce was a bright orange color. It smelled both sweet and spicy at the same time, and the meatballs, which were emerald green, were surely not made from any kind of meat Sabrina had ever had.
"It's a special recipe," Mrs. Grimm said, as she dished some out for Daphne. "The sauce has a little curry in it and the noodles are made with squid ink."
Sabrina was disgusted. There was no way she was going to eat the old woman's weird food. This sicko had lied about being someone's dead grandmother. Who knew what she had yanked from under the kitchen sink and added to the recipe: arsenic, rat poison, clog remover? No, Sabrina wasn't going to eat a noodle. Of course, Daphne dug in with gusto and had already swallowed a third of her plate before Sabrina could warn her.
"So, Mr. Canis says your suitcases felt almost empty. Don't you have any clothes?" Mrs. Grimm asked.
"The police kept them," Daphne said, shoveling a huge forkful of noodles into her mouth. "They said they were evidence."
"Kept them? That's crazy! What will they do with them?" She looked at each of them and finally at Mr. Canis, who shrugged.
"Well, we'll have to go into town and pick you out new wardrobes. We can't have you running around naked all the time, can we? I mean, people will think we're nudists."
Daphne laughed to the point of snorting, but when she saw Sabrina's disapproving face she stopped and stuck her tongue out at her sister.
"I was thinking that we—" Mrs. Grimm started, but Sabrina interrupted.
"Who are you? And don't say you're our grandmother because our grandmother is dead!"
Mrs. Grimm shifted in her seat. Mr. Canis, obviously seeing the question as his cue to retire, got up, took his empty plate, and exited the room.
"But I am your grandmother, libeling," the old woman replied.
"I said our grandmother is dead. Our father told us she died before we were born."
"Girls, I assure you that I am who I say I am."