Night of the Candles by Jennifer Blake Page A

tightly that even in death she holds him. No, she had no hold on me. I hated her too much.”
    “Are you sure it isn’t hate that has made you see her as you do?” Amanda asked quietly.
    “Am I … oh, I see. You are another one of her dupes. After three long years you still remember her as gay and beautiful and happy. Well then, forget it. Forget I said anything. She is dead now. She can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
    Sophia, her face hard, walked to the window.
    After a while, to ease the strain, Amanda asked, “Where is everyone this morning?”
    “Jason planted sugar cane this year, not too much, just enough for syrup for the family and plantation workers. There is a coolness in the air after the rain, the first hint of fall, perfect syrup weather. They are down below in the barns now, crushing the sugar cane and boiling the juice. Would you like some of the fresh juice? We have some in the outdoor kitchen.”
    “I don’t believe so, thank you. Marta has been bringing me hot liquids all morning.”
    “This would be cool and pleasantly sweet. No? Then let me apologize for inflicting my views of your cousin on you…”
    “Wait. I … the collar of Harmonia … the necklace,” Amanda explained as Sophia stopped, a blank look on her face.
    “Yes, what of it?”
    “It’s gone.”
    Sophia frowned. “Are you sure?”
    “Marta looked. I had it in my hand when I fell, but now we can’t find it. I thought that you might have picked it up for me.”
    “No … no, I haven’t seen it. I remember that you had it … but I have no idea what happened to it. We were so concerned about you.”
    There was nothing in her face to make Amanda think she was telling anything but the truth. Still, the necklace had not simply vanished. If neither Sophia nor Theo had taken it, there was only Jason and, perhaps Carl, left. “I … I hate to be a bother, but would you mind asking Jason about it when he comes in?”
    “Yes, of course, I will. Don’t trouble yourself over it. A beautiful thing like that couldn’t be lost. I expect Jason is holding it for you.”
    “Thank you. I … do appreciate your asking him for me.”
    “Not at all.”
    When the woman had gone Amanda lay staring up at the tester above her, thinking of Sophia. She seemed bitter, a cold type of woman, and yet she had poured out her feelings for Jason and her opinion of Amelia and the others in the house with a surprising fervor. It might be because Amanda was a stranger, and she did not expect to see her again after this interlude was over. She had hinted, too, that it was because she expected Amanda to share her feelings, but how could she? Amelia was not like the picture Sophia had painted. Was she?
    Thinking back Amanda could remember little things, petty bickering, a few childish tricks while they were growing up. It was only natural for the two girls, left alone in the world, to compete for the affection of the only two people who cared about them, their grandparents. Amelia had always said that Amanda had an unfair advantage since she had lived with them longer, but that wasn’t so. If her grandparents had preferred her, which she was not prepared to admit, it was because she was quieter, less troublesome, less volatile in her emotions. The elderly set great store by peace.
    No, she could not accept Sophia’s view. What of the things Marta had said? What of Amelia’s pity for frail things, her rescue of a near-drowned puppy, and of Carl, a derelict? Marta had no reason to make a saint of Amelia. On the other hand Sophia’s view of Amelia, by her own admission, was colored by jealousy. Why, then, had she let herself be disturbed? It must be that she did not care for the idea of anyone spreading a false impression of someone who had been so close to her.
    After luncheon she drifted off to sleep for a time, but every movement that Marta made dragged her back to consciousness. She wished the woman would go away and leave her in peace. However, no