Squidders yelled until a smart woman opened the door. “And what do you think you are doing in Meg´s fridge? You eh… centipede?”
“Miss Octopus to you, sister.” Squidders kept the torn pantyhose well away, and tried to show the rest of her legs off to their best advantage. “Just drifting about a bit I was.” No need to admit the truth.
“Jo Beckett. Pleased to meet you. But why would anyone choose to stay in a fridge?” She shuddered involuntarily. “And Meg´s fridge – can´t exactly be healthy for you.”
“Well, the famous Ms Gardiner wanted me for dinner,” Squidders boasted.
“You … for dinner? Good grief, can anyone be so daft?”
Squidders wriggled angrily. Daft – as if she could help it. Her folks sent her off to a school of fish, but she never passed the entrance exam.
“Quick! There she is – knived! Squidaddle! “ Beckett spun around. “Oh, … hi Meg.”
“Jo! Great you could make it. Now, where did I put …” Absent-mindedly she waved the knife.
“Oh, that old squid – gone off, I´d say. Been on the shelf too long.”
When Squidders was apprehended after having strangled both women with a pair of pantyhose, she pleaded non-complimented.