Molly peered over the fence, binoculars in hand, then turned to Bill who was fumbling with a walkie-talkie. “Bill, focus. We hit the jackpot. Corner house, big balloon arch, a clown on stilts. It's like Fort Knox for birthday presents.” “Right, right,” Bill whispered back, fidgeting with his clown nose disguise. “So, what’s the game plan, boss?” “We blend in, swipe the gifts, and vanish like a fart in a windstorm,” Molly said, diagramming in the air with her hands. "You got the ‘Get Well Soon’ card?” Bill patted his pockets, then held up an oversized sympathy card. “Um, close enough?” Molly sighed. “It’ll have to do. Remember, you're my lovesick nephew Billy, tragically allergic to cake but, paradoxically, a children's party enthusiast.” “Got it, Aunt Moll,” Bill grinned, practicing his sneeze. “Achoo! Oh, woe is me, denied the pleasures of frosted delights!” Snorting, Molly adjusted her oversized floral hat. “Okay, Phase Two: while you're busy being allergic, I'll cozy up to the birthday boy's granny. Grandmas love me. I'll chat her up, distract her, then you nab the presents under the guise of helping.” “Classic misdirection. Love it!” Bill said, trying to spin a hula hoop around his arm and failing spectacularly. Molly watched the hoop clatter to the ground. “Maybe stick to the sneezing, yeah? Now, remember, the presents are probably going to be by the big table with the cake. Look for the fanciest wrapping, those are usually the big-ticket items.” “You think they’ll have security?” Bill asked, suddenly serious as he tucked the hoop away. “Bill, it’s a seven-year-old’s birthday party, not a bank heist. The most we’ll encounter is a suspicious mom or a territorial clown.” Bill perked up at that. “Speaking of clowns, if I get into trouble, the code word is ‘banana cream pie.’” “Banana cream pie?” Molly chuckled, pulling on her gloves. "Really makes me worry about your previous career choices, Billy.” He winked. “Every clown’s nightmare, Molly. Now, let’s synchronize watches and get this party crashed.” Molly checked her watch, then nodded sharply. “It’s go time. You head in first. Text me when the coast is clear.” Bill gave her a thumbs up, then tiptoed towards the gate, blending surprisingly well with the stream of arriving party-goers. Molly took a deep breath, adjusted her hat once more, and followed a safe distance behind. As Molly approached, she could hear Bill, his voice tinged with fake despondency. “Achoo! No cake for me, I'm afraid—allergic!” The sound of sympathetic murmurs followed, along with a few hearty laughs. Bill’s act was working. Molly made her way to a sweet-looking elderly woman watching the children play. “Such a lovely party,” Molly commented, easing into the conversation. “Is that your grandson?” As they chatted, Molly couldn’t help but admire Bill’s dedication to the role, currently surrounded by a group of kids explaining, through dramatic sniffles, his tragic backstory. Almost too good at this, she thought, already planning their escape route, lined with gift-wrapped goodies.