The Sapphire Pendant

The Sapphire Pendant

by

Dara Girard

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Please Note

This is a work of fiction.
 
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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© 2006 Sadé Odubiyi

Cover by Kimberly Van Meter

eBook design by eBook Prep
www.ebookprep.com
 

Thank You
.

Other Books by Dara Girard

Table for Two

Gaining Interest

Carefree

Illusive Flame

The Writer Behind the Words: Steps to Success in the Writing Life

Dedication

To my greatest support—my family. Those who dare to dream.

And all the “Kenneths” in the world.

Prologue

Late 1800s

The west wind swept over the Caribbean Sea, drumming her fingers along Jamaica’s white sands, rushing through its caves with a wicked, echoing laugh.

Sonya Clifton sat by the window, a silhouette in the moonlight. Her revenge was complete; there was nothing left to keep her here. She turned at the whisper of shifting sheets and stared at the man who filled the large bed. His white shoulders were like eggshells against the green bedclothes.

He had said he loved her, but she knew his words to be as tempting and poisonous as the manchineel tree, whose very leaves could cause blisters. She would leave him, this German holidaymaker who toyed with young hearts. Yes, she would leave him, but she hadn’t accounted for the memories.

She glanced down at the pendant he had kept hidden under a loose floorboard, unaware that she knew its whereabouts. Her nimble, brown fingers caressed the blue-and-green feather motif and the small sapphires suspended in the rope-chain. She held it up, letting the moonlight fall upon the star-sapphire center—twilight locked in stone.

She draped the pendant around her neck, then kissed the sapphire eye before slipping out the window.

Chapter 1

Early 2000s

“For God’s sake, Jessie, let’s get out of here before we’re caught,” Wendy scolded in a harsh, loud whisper that seemed to bounce off the dark mahogany chairs and glass display cases in the room.

Jessie barely heard the warning, her cinnamon eyes fixed on a display case near the far wall. Its contents whispered to her in a soft, haunting song.

“I must get this back somehow,” she muttered, staring at the sapphire pendant that lay seductively in its velvet bed.

Wendy grabbed her arm, eager to leave before either their boss or the owner, Mrs. Ashford, saw them. “So you’ve said many times.” Her blues eyes shifted to the closed door, under which a sliver of light flickered as a shadow passed.

“I promised my father, when he sold it, that I would get it back one day.” Jessie swallowed, trying to dislodge the tightness in her throat. Neither her father nor her mother had lived to see her fulfill that promise, but she would do it anyway.