Molly drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the bouncy castle that swayed in the autumn breeze. The pink princess-themed monstrosity dominated the front yard of 44 Maple Drive, where little Sophie Harrison's seventh birthday party was in full swing. "I still think this is low, even for us," Bill muttered, adjusting his fake pizza delivery uniform. "Listen, that's easily ten grand worth of presents in there. Rich kids mean rich parents mean expensive gifts." Molly pulled out her binoculars, focusing on the pile of wrapped boxes accumulating on a table near the back door. Bill shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, but it's a kid's party. We could hit the electronics store next week instead." "The electronics store has cameras and security guards. This place has clowns and sugar-high second-graders." She lowered the binoculars and turned to face her partner. "Besides, these suburban parents all have insurance. Little Sophie will probably end up with twice as many presents in the end." "You've got an answer for everything, don't you?" "That's why I'm the brains of this operation." Molly reached into the back seat and grabbed a bright yellow balloon bouquet. "Now remember, you go in first with the decoy pizza. When they tell you nobody ordered any, make a big fuss about checking the address. That'll draw them to the front yard." "And you'll slip in through the back with the balloons, looking like another party vendor." "Exactly. Parents are too frazzled at these things to keep track of who's supposed to be where. We grab the presents, load them in the van parked around the corner, and we're gone before they finish singing Happy Birthday." Bill tugged at his fake mustache. "What if some kid spots us?" "Then we say we're Santa's helpers doing quality control checks. Kids'll believe anything." Molly checked her watch. "It's go time. The magician should be starting his act any minute now." "I still can't believe we're stealing from a seven-year-old." "We're stealing from her parents' credit card bills, and you know it. Now get moving, delivery boy." Bill grabbed the empty pizza box and stepped out of the car, muttering under his breath about karma and cosmic justice. Molly watched him trudge up the walkway, dodging a stream of kids racing past with water guns. She allowed herself a small smile. The plan was simple, clean, and practically foolproof. In twenty minutes, they'd be driving away with enough loot to fund their winter getaway. Sure, it wasn't exactly Ocean's Eleven, but sometimes the best scores were the ones nobody would ever suspect. Besides, she thought, adjusting her party planner disguise in the rearview mirror, she'd leave the birthday girl one present. She wasn't completely heartless. Just mostly. The sound of Bill's exaggerated Italian accent drifted across the lawn as he began his performance. Molly grabbed the balloons and slipped out of the car. It was showtime.