“How many presents are we talking about, Bill?” “Thirty-two. Minimum. I counted. Some of them are stackable.” “Stackable’s good. What’s the security situation?” “Young. Distracted. Sugar-rushed. Parental units appear glazed over.” “Any alarms?” “Just the clown. He’s a wild card.” “Clown? No. Bill, you know how I feel about clowns.” “Focus, Molly. We’re professionals. The clown’s balloon animal skills are subpar.” “Thank goodness for small mercies. Entry point?” “Kitchen window. Spotted jam fingerprints. Someone’s already halfway through.” “Inside job?” “Or a toddler. Similar skill sets.” “We go in at cake. Everyone will be busy. How do we transport thirty-two gifts?” “The ‘Happy Birthday, Charlie’ wagon. Wheels loud though.” “Can we muffle them?” “I’ve got bubble wrap. It’s festive.” “Excellent. And the clown?” “If he charges, I’ll counter with a party blower.” “Bill, you’re a genius.” “I know. What about escape route?” “Front door, confident stride. If you look guilty, they’ll sense fear.” “Sensible. Confused is my specialty.” “We divvy at the slide. Agreed?” “Agreed. Now, Molly—about the gift wrap—” “I love ducks. Don’t skimp on the ducks.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” “Ready?” “Always.”