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opened her mouth to say something else, but Rienne stopped her. “Look at the jeans, that’s great work, and not done yesterday, either, if you were going to suggest it was only done to fit in here.”
    Triste said with a world-weary sigh, “Excuse me, Pippa. You wouldn’t believe how many nanny types there are who like pastels like pink and blue.”
    Rienne nodded. “Or tan and brown. That’s at least sixty percent of the nanny wardrobe.”
    Triste sat down across the table from me. “True. That’s why we specified ‘must love black’ in the ad. We need a nanny who understands us. The pastel types can’t handle the job.”
    I was a little curious to hear about the previous nanny runaways, but I knew better than to invite them to try to spook me with horror stories. I had been babysitting long enough to know that I had to take the upper hand right away, or I’d be dead nanny walking.
    I said, “I always wear black. It’s a good color. Sensible. Doesn’t show dirt.” I stood up and brushed off a few chipcrumbs. “Do I send this back down on the dumbwaiter?”
    “Yes,” they said together. A little creepy. They showed me how. I liked sending the dirty dishes away and forgetting about them. At home a dirty dish in the sink might get me a ten-minute lecture from Krystal.
    Then I said, “Time to turn in. We can meet more officially tomorrow.” They stared at me without moving.
    Great. No way was I going to let them get away with a summer of not listening to me. I walked toward the door to their room. “Do you like to be tucked in?”
    Rienne, obviously the chattier twin, shook her head and moved past me through the door. “No, thank you. Although tomorrow night we will expect you to read to us from our bedtime book.”
    “No problem.”
    Triste took my hand, I thought she wanted to shake good-bye before she went back to bed, but she turned my hand over and thoughtfully traced the lines on my palm. She turned to her sister. “Just like the handwriting analysis suggested. I think we have a keeper.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    You have a responsibility to your children, my lord. A responsibility to help them be better than you, if you will forgive my boldness.
    —Miss Adelaide Putnam to Lord Dashwood,
Manor of Dark Dreams,
p. 22
    “What?” I glanced down at my palm. Just a plain palm, still a tiny bit greasy from the chips. I refocused on the solemn little girl who was staring at me with enormous—and enormously sincere—brown eyes.
    Rienne nodded, and I could have sworn there was a self-satisfied “I told you so” lurking in her tone when she said, “Handwriting analysis is very useful.”
    Triste apparently noticed the lurking smugness too, because she frowned a little before she said, “The ‘must love black’ line was equally important.” I had the feeling that had been her contribution, and I wasn’t sure how I felt knowing that two ten-year-olds had written the job advertisement for their new nanny.
    Rienne dismissed that contribution. “Maybe, to attract her to apply. But anyone can say they love black, and handwriting is the only way to ensure they’re not lying.”
    Rienne turned to me and said proudly, “We convinced Father that that was the best way to find someone who would be compatible with us.”
    They looked gravely at each other in some kind of weird twin communication, then at me. “At least for the summer,” they said in unison.
    Hmm. That was good, right? They wanted me to stay. I guess I didn’t have to look for rats or toads. Yet.
    I tried to sound firm, though I was no longer sure I needed to. They were a pretty serious pair of kids. “Good night, then. See you in the morning.”
    “Good night.” They shut themselves in their room and I stood there for a moment, just letting what I’d learned about them sink in. After a few minutes, the weight of the day got to me and I decided going to bed was a good idea.
    My bed at home was not nearly as nice, but it was mine, centered