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O’Neal’s nostrils flared. “So you want me to lie?”
“No . . . just selectively forget. Make the elves take back everything they stole—that should placate the victims, right? Just make it go away. Oh, and you don’t need to tell my mom about my coming here, either. Or else . . .” She rocked the phone back and forth in the air, the photo of O’Neal in his Stripper Santa outfit still on the screen.
O’Neal stared off into the parking lot, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Emily’s heart thudded against her ribs, wondering what she’d gotten into—she was basically blackmailing a cop. She glanced around the parking lot, suddenly certain someone was watching. A shadow fluttered behind one of the parked cruisers. The tiniest sigh sounded from next to a row of dumpsters.
“Fine.” O’Neal threw up his hands. “I suppose I can make that happen.” He shook a finger in Emily’s face. “But if anything else goes missing in Rosewood—even something as small as a lightbulb from an outdoor lighting arrangement—I’m coming to you for answers, got it? And I’m telling your mother everything.”
“Understood,” Emily said.
She held out her hand, and O’Neal shook it. Just before he went back inside, she called out, “One more thing. Don’t tell the elves I negotiated their release.”
O’Neal raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want them to thank you? They’re rich girls. They could probably buy you an amazing present.”
Emily stared off at the dusting of snow that now covered the parking lot. An amazing present wasn’t the same as being part of the elves’ clique . . . and she would never be welcome in their group again. In their eyes, she would always be a traitor, a girl they didn’t want to know. This could just be her anonymous Christmas gift to them—her way to make up for what she did. She shook her head.
O’Neal slipped back inside. Emily stood by the window and watched him traverse the lobby, pull a couple of papers from his desk, tear them up, and shoot them through the large shredder in the corner of the room. After he was finished, he ambled over to a holding cell and tapped on the bars. Four figures appeared. Cassie, Lola, Heather, and Sophie were still wearing the thick down coats they’d had on at the country club. Their hair was matted, and their eyes and noses were red as though they’d been crying.
The snow was making a fine layer on Emily’s eyelashes, but she didn’t blink, not wanting to miss a moment. O’Neal said a few words to the girls, then fished in his pocket for a set of keys. He opened the jail cell and stood aside so the girls could file out. They stared at him skeptically, and then smiles bloomed on their faces. But for once, the smiles weren’t wry or self-assured or mischievous. They were smiles of gratitude. Relief.
Emily backed away from the window, feeling like everything was right with the world again. She slid silently into her car, started the engine, and reversed out of the parking space. By the time O’Neal escorted the elves to a cruiser in the parking lot, Emily was long gone—they would never know it was her who set them free. But their grateful smiles were reward enough.
Chapter 16
The Whole World Was at Peace
The following afternoon, Emily was in the kitchen, rolling out a long log of flour to make Christmas sugar cookies. It was her favorite Christmas tradition, mostly because she loved licking the sugary frosting off the beaters. This was the first available time she had to do it—playing Santa had taken up a lot of her time. Mrs. Meriwether had called this morning, though, and said that Emily no longer had to report to Santa Land for duty—she had found a suitable Santa replacement and was letting Emily off as a thank-you.
Emily was surprised to realize she was disappointed to not be going back. She’d ended up really enjoying being Santa.
Someone coughed behind her. Emily’s mother loomed in the doorway, her hands clasped at her waist. She glanced at the empty trays of cookie sheets Emily had ready next to the oven.
“Want to help?” Emily asked, avoiding eye contact. She and her mom hadn’t really spoken since Emily had lashed out at her in front of everyone at the sting last night. Emily knew she should apologize, but she didn’t really know what to say. She’d meant every word. Why should she take it back?
Mrs. Fields didn’t answer, settling stiffly into a kitchen chair and making a big deal out of examining a loose thread on one of the place mats, which was printed with a chicken wearing a holly wreath on its head. Emily rolled out the dough, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
Finally, her mother let out a sigh. “You were right, you know.”
Emily’s head whipped up. “Pardon?”
“What you said last night about the baby Jesus.” Her mother chewed on a thumbnail. “Maybe I have lost sight of things. Maybe it was crazy to want the baby Jesus back just so I could sell it to buy gifts. It’s just . . . I wanted Christmas to be extra-special this year. Because of everything we’ve all been through. Because of you and that A girl. Because of Alison.”
When she looked up, her eyes were wet, which made Emily tear up, too. “I know how much she meant to you,” Mrs. Fields said in a choked voice. “I know how hard it’s been to accept she was . . .” She trailed off, not daring to say the word murdered. “And the thought that it was someone we knew, someone so close to all you girls . . . I couldn’t bear the idea that it could have been you instead. Your dad and I are just so grateful that you’re here. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”
