Molly and Bill exchanged a mischievous glint in their eyes as they pored over the party plan, their voices barely above a whisper. "Molly, I still need to get the eye of the birthday girl's mom, Mrs. Johnson," Bill said, his hand on the rusted handle of a nearby tool box. Molly nodded, her blonde hair bouncing behind her. "Right, I've got a burner phone number in her kid's database. And I have a new disguise for her - a bright orange wig." Bill chuckled. "You look like a Vegas performer. We'll be the most stylish parents at the party." Molly giggled. "And the kid will not notice the hair of the Great White Shark, Bill. Besides, it's not like we're stealing Christmas presents, we're stealing childhood magic." Bill raised an eyebrow. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one who has to endure copious amounts of sugar-encrusted chaos and screaming children for 10 whole hours a day." Molly playfully rolled her eyes. "Hey, you're not exactly a miracle worker, Detective." Molly glanced at the mock phone number on her fingers: "Seriously though, I just need that hair as proof."