“Emily?”
Aria Montgomery appeared, looking just as surprised to see Emily as Emily was to see her. She was wearing a big coat with a furry hood, fitted jeans, and fur-lined brown boots that looked like Snuffleupaguses on her feet.
“Hey.” Emily’s heart began to slow down. “W-what are you doing here?”
Aria’s blue eyes were wide. “I come here, sometimes. But I’m too afraid to go back there.”
She pointed to the dug-up concrete slab. Emily nodded, knowing exactly what Aria meant. She hadn’t looked inside the hole, either.
They stood in silence for a few beats. The sun sank lower into the trees, turning the sky an eerie purple. Christmas lights on automatic timers snapped on in the windows across the street.
Aria trudged over to a large boulder in Ali’s yard and sat down. “It’s weird, you know? That it’s all . . . over. I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I know,” Emily whispered.
“I mean, I’m happy it’s over,” Aria said quickly. “But it doesn’t seem real. You know?”
Emily did know. Ali had been gone for years without any answers. And A—Mona Vanderwaal—had impersonated Ali so expertly, they’d all thought she was back until her body was uncovered.
“It is real, though,” Emily said quietly, shifting her feet in the cold, spiny grass. She felt like crying as the words spilled from her mouth. As much as she wanted Ali back, there was nothing she could do to change the past. Ali was gone. End of story.
Chapter 2
Away in a Manger
Forty-five minutes later, Emily parked her bike in the garage and walked back into her house. The beef stew Mrs. 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 in 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?”