Forty-five minutes later, Emily parked her bike in the garage and walked back into her house. The beef stew Mes. Fields had made for dinner was sitting on top of the stove, but there was no one in the kitchen to eat it.
Emily found her mother pacing around the den, her shoulder-length hair loosened from its ponytail and her green eyes wild. Emily's father was following behind her, rubbing her shoulders and saying, "It's okay. Calm down. Please."
"What's going on?" Emily squeaked.
Mrs. Fields stopped in the middle of the round braided rug. "Something terrible has happened."
Emily's heart began to pound. Had Ian gotten out of prison after all? Was someone else dead? "Oh no," she whispered.
Mrs. Fields collapsed on the couch and placed her head on her hands. "My baby Jesus has been stolen! It was a precious antique!"
It took a few moments for the words to sink in. Emily recalled her mother hauling a ceramic baby Jesus out of the attic on Thanksgiving, nestling it into the backseat of the car, and proudly pointing it out in the Nativity scene on the church lawn every Sunday after that.
"I'm so upset," Mrs. Fields went on. "It was an heirloom from your grandmother!"
The phone rang, and Mrs. Fields pounced on it. "Judith?" she said into the receiver, springing to her feet and heading into the other room. Emily and her dad exchanged a look.
"That was Judith Meriwether at the church," Mrs. Fields said when she returned. "She and some of the other people on the church staff have a hunch about who stole the baby Jesus. They think it's a group of college girls home on winter break. They've been terrorizing neighborhoods, stealing decorations and messing up lawns. Apparently they call themselves the Merry Elves."
Before she could stop herself, Emily cracked a smile at the name, and Mrs. Fields shot her a look. "It's not funny. Judith says they call themselves that because they all work as elves at Santa Land at the Devon Crest Mall in West Rosewood. Judith works there as the assistant manager, and she's heard them say a few things that piqued her interest." Mrs. Fields scrunched up her face once more. "I can't believe they took the baby Jesus. They've probably smashed it to pieces!"
"Now, now." Mr. Fields rubbed his wife's back.
"I'm really sorry, Mom," Emily said, perching on the arm of the couch. "Is there anything I can do?"
Mrs. Fields dried her eyes with the embroidered handkerchief she always carried around. "We need to stop this blasphemy. But it'll take someone infiltrating the group and catching the girls in the act to get the proof we need." She placed her hand on Emily's arm."The Santa Land at the Devon Crest Mall is looking for a new Santa—the old one was fired for hitting on girls." Mrs. Fields shuddered slightly. "Anyhow, I told Judith you could be the new Santa. It's a perfect way to spy on these girls."
"Me? A spy?" Emily blurted. There was no way she was taking a job as Santa Claus. She'd thought about getting a job over the holidays, especially after her father had mentioned that his Christmas bonus was going to be smaller this year, but she had been thinking of something more along the lines of a gift-wrapper at Macy's or a salesgirl at FrogLand, the swim specialty shop. Playing Santa sounded as challenging as being Mickey Mouse at Disney World. If you got it wrong, you'd ruin a kid's whole year. Not to mention that she didn't really fit the part.
"Please, honey?" Mrs. Fields's chin wobbled. "I really need you to do this."
"But I don't have any experience with kids," Emily protested. "And I don't think I'd be a good spy."
Mrs. Fields's eyebrows made a V. "You have plenty of experience with kids. You did lots of babysitting when you were younger. And what about when you were a Wilderness Guide at Rosewood Happyland Day Camp?"
Like that really counted. Emily and Ali signed up to be Wilderness Guides the summer between sixth and seventh grades, mostly because Ali had a crush on the canoeing instructor. In the course of the first hour, a little girl peed on Emily's foot, a boy hit her, and a group of kids pushed her into a patch of poison ivy. After all that, Ali had discovered that Canoe Boy had a girlfriend. They'd quit after lunch and laughed about it all summer. Whenever Emily or Ali was in a bad mood, they'd say, I'm having a Wilderness kind of day.
"And you would make an excellent spy," Mrs. Fields went on. "The elves are just a few years older than you are, and I know you can break into their clique and dig up some good information on them."
"Why can't Carolyn do it?"
Mrs. Fields's nostrils flared. "Because Carolyn already has a job over the break. She's working as a waitress at Applebee's."
Emily would gladly deliver sizzling fajita pans and margaritas to drunken patrons instead. "But Santa is usually a guy. Won't kids get confused when they hear my voice?" she asked in a last-ditch effort.
Emily's dad, who had settled on the couch, shrugged. "Just make your voice sound deeper. This really means a lot to your mom, "Em."
Emily gritted her teeth. This was so classic: Mrs. Fields was always making decisions for Emily without actually asking her first. Like how she just assumed she'd be on the swim team year after year. Or how she bought Emily jeans from the Gap even though Gap jeans hadn't fit her properly for years. Or how she made reservations at a Broadway-themed restaurant for Emily's birthday even though Emily hadn't liked the restaurant since she was nine years old. Sometimes, Emily thought her mother preferred Emily when she was nine—obedient, sweet, no mind of her own.
But then Emily's gaze fell on the L Word DVD set on top of the media console. Below it was Finding Nemo, which Mrs. Fields had bought for Emily when she'd returned from Iowa, specifically choosing it because Ellen DeGeneres was the voice of one of the fishes. Her mom had finally come around about everything. What if she turned down and her mom went back to freezing her out? Emily wasn't sure if she could take that.
"All right," Emily conceded. "I guess I can at least go in for an interview."
"Oh, nonsense." Mrs. Fields waved her hand. "You've already got the job. You're on the schedule for tomorrow. Saturday's one of the busiest days at Santa Land, so you'll be diving right in." She stood up and wrapped her arms around Emily. "Thank you so much, honey. I knew I could count on you."
Emily stiffly hugged her back, her mind starting to churn. She'd better get to work on her ho ho hos—it looked like she was going to be Santa, ready or not.