Later that night, Emily slipped out the front door, locked up, and pushed the Volvo down the driveway so her parents wouldn't hear the engine start. She wasn't supposed to be out this late, but she couldn't lie in her bed for a second longer, listening to Carolyn snore and seeing Cassie's wounded face again and again.
A light snow had begun to fall, dusting the streets, the rooftops, and the tree branches. She passed Rosewood Day, which was all lit up with lights around its stone perimeter, and then the turnoff to Ali's street. But she didn't feel like stopping by Ali's house tonight. She felt too ashamed about what she'd done. It was almost from beyond the grave.
Emily couldn't get Cassie's words out of her mind. Ali would hate you for this. It was absolutely true: Ali might have teased the four of them, she might have been growing apart from them at the end of seventh grade, but she never deliberately sold them out. The five of them had always had a pact, covering for one another when they got in trouble. It was why Emily, Aria, Spencer, and Hanna had told Ali's parents all kinds of stories about where Ali might have been the morning after she'd vanished. They'd figured Ali would have wanted them to. Never in their wildest dreams had they thought she was dead.
Emily merged onto the bypass and followed the signs for West Rosewood. So what kind of person had she become now? Had she known, deep down, that her mom and Mrs. Meriwether were tracking her? Had she willingly led them right to the girls? She should have told Cassie and the others exactly what her mom was making her do. Even if it meant having come along on the prank, even if it meant they wouldn't have welcomed her into their clique, she would have extricated herself from the situation. But as it was, she just looked like a conspirator. A traitor. A narc.
The green sign for the exit for West Rosewood glowed in the distance. Emily hit the blinker and turned onto the off-ramp. Soon enough, she was pulling up to the West Rosewood police station, which she'd Google-mapped before she left home. It was in an old farmhouse. A bunch of square cars sat in the parking lot, and a single light glowed in one of the ground-floor windows.
The elves were being held in the jail inside. If only there was something Emily could do, some way she could get them out. But how? Claim that she was the mastermind of the operation? Volunteer that she'd broken into the country club and stole all that stuff herself? Her mother and Mrs. Meriwether had captured all of it on camera. The elves definitely looked guilty.
She pulled out her phone and looked at the picture of herself and the elves gathered around the barren Christmas tree inside the country club. Cassie had her arm slung around Emily's like they were best friends. She clicked through the other photos she'd taken of the elves that week. Lola and Emily staging a sword fight with two long candy canes at Santa Land that afternoon. Cassie and Emily lounging in the gingerbread house on a break. There was a shot of the girls in the car after they'd spied on Stripper Santa. And then the photos of Stripper Santa himself, waving a T-shirt in the air, the housewives stuffing bills into his G-string.
All this time we thought you were a Marc, Cassie had said that night. I guess we were wrong.
The door to the precinct opened, and Emily slid down in the driver's seat. A uniformed cop strolled out of the station, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the brick wall. As he moved into profile, Emily realized it was Officer O'Neal. He shut his eyes as he took long drag after long drag, looking completely content, maybe even proud. It was probably a big win to capture the Merry Elves. Maybe he'd even get a bonus for this—maybe that was how he was going to pay for his daughter's ever-growing Christmas list. How else was he going to buy all those toys on a cop's salary?
A light flickered on in her head. She studied the smoking figure for a minute longer. There was something familiar about him, the shape of his broad shoulders, the jutting contours of his chin. Underneath his uniform, Emily was almost positive he had washboard abs and a broad, well-defined chest.
She fumbled for her phone again and called up the Stripper Santa photos. She looked at O'Neal once more, squinting hard. She looked from photo to cop until she was absolutely sure. "Oh my God," she whispered, lowering the photo to her lap and started to giggle.
Stripper Santa was…Officer O'Neal.