The little girl’s mouth made an upside-down U. “I’m not too young! My mom said I could play the slots!”
The line slowly dwindled and the elves returned from Starbucks. Not that they did any work. Heather slipped a pair of Bose headphones over her ears and ate a couple of candy canes out of the wicker basket on the checkout counter. Sophie chatted with one of the Aéropostale workers. Lola slipped around the corner of the gingerbread house to take a phone call. “So you’re going to be gone for four days?” she said to someone on the other line. “No, it’s fine, Mom. I said it’s fine. It’s just, like, I think there’s something wrong with the car, and . . .” She trailed off. “No, I understand. Rocco needs you. I got it.”
She stabbed the phone to hang up, making a small whimpering sound. When she turned around and saw Emily staring, her eyes narrowed. Emily decided this wasn’t a good time to ask if Lola was okay.
The only girl who hadn’t returned from Starbucks was Cassie. Emily had watched the lead elf carefully, trying to figure out how Cassie could have gone from such a freshly scrubbed, super-popular Rosewood girl to someone who looked like she’d just tumbled out of juvie. For once she actually wished Cassie would recognize Emily from her pictures in the papers after Ali had vanished or when Ian had been arrested. If Cassie knew who she was, it might bridge the gap between them.
As if sensing Emily’s thoughts, Mrs. Meriwether emerged from inside the gingerbread house and glared around Santa Land. “Where’s Cassie?”
Heather lifted a headphone from her ear. “On her break.”
Mrs. Meriwether’s mouth became a small, tight line. “She left for her break an hour ago.”
“No, there she is.” Emily pointed down the corridor. Cassie was sauntering unhurriedly back to Santa Land, a Starbucks cup in her hand.
Mrs. Meriwether darted over to her. “An hour break is not permitted.”
One corner of Cassie’s mouth rose in a smirk. “Sorry. I was busy.”
“You were busy?” Mrs. Meriwether placed her hands on her hips, looking about ready to explode.
“Yeah, busy.” Cassie hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, glaring at Mrs. Meriwether. They looked ready for a standoff of epic proportions.
“Wait a minute.” Emily jumped off the Santa throne and waddled over to Mrs. Meriwether and Cassie, holding the pillow in her stomach so that it didn’t slip into her crotch. “Uh, Mrs. Meriwether, I’m the reason Cassie took such a long break. I asked her to see if she could find me a new Santa hat. Mine is really, really itchy.”
She scratched her scalp for effect, not daring to meet Cassie’s gaze. Of course it was a lie, but Mrs. Meriwether needed to keep her job—and Emily needed to get on the elves’ good side.
Mrs. Meriwether’s brow creased. “Is this true, Cassie?”
“Uh, yeah,” Cassie admitted. “I scoured the mall, looking. But sorry, Santa, I couldn’t find a single hat.”
“It’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “I’ll live.”
Mrs. Meriwether’s eyes flickered from Emily to Cassie, looking like she didn’t believe either of them. “Just go back to work,” she grumbled, turning around and trundling back to the gingerbread house.
Cassie gazed down her nose at Emily. “Thanks, Santa.”
“You’re welcome,” Emily answered.
“You know . . .” Cassie ran her tongue over her teeth. “There’s a party at my house tonight. Maybe you want to come.”
Emily blinked hard. “Uh, sure. That would be great.”
“What?” Heather slid the headphones from her ears and nudged Cassie hard. “Why are you—”
“Shut up.” Cassie nudged her back, then turned to Emily again. “I live on Emerson Road in Old Hollis. You’ll know the place because of all the cars.”
“Great.” Emily tried to sound nonchalant. “I’ll see you there.”
Cassie set off toward the back of Santa Land. The other elves followed behind her, whispering. Emily returned to her throne, feeling light-headed and giddy, but nervous, too. Was Cassie being sincere? What if this was some kind of setup? She stared at the swarming mall crowds. If someone passes in the next minute with a Neiman Marcus bag, this is all going to end up okay, she wagered.
Not five seconds later, a woman strutted past with not one Neiman Marcus bag, but three. If that wasn’t a positive omen, Emily didn’t know what was.
Chapter 5
Every Good Spy Needs a Plan