Molly adjusted her beret, eyeing the colorful poster for the children's party stuck to the lamppost. "This is our target," she whispered, decoding the invitation with her practiced eye. Bill, clad in a fake bushman's guide outfit, nodded. "Quite the gig, Molly. Homeschooled kiddos can't protect themselves." He unzipped his jacket, revealing a top hat underneath. "This could be a mother's nightmare." Molly tapped her nose. "A nightmare with minimal resistance." She flipped through the copy of 'The Art of Congealed Concealment.' "Every house, an identical setup. A clown, a cake, a mum, dad, and a bounty of paint-splattered joy... except we replace it with a trove of targets." Bill chuckled softly. "Make the cake fireproof, make the jokes edible." He envisioned the clown's face plastered on a plate, wishing, rather clumsily, for Molly's precision. The two robbers exchanged a firm nod, their plan devised. They'd swap the innocence for profit, artfully dodging neither sugar nor suspicion. The party would be a perfect camouflage for the unraveling of their grand larceny. They'd outsmart the ho-ho-holly season with a string of laugh-able larceny.