Molly crouched behind Mrs. Henderson's prize-winning hydrangeas, adjusting her fake mustache for the third time. The sounds of children's laughter and off-key singing drifted from the backyard where a elaborate princess-themed party was in full swing. "This is absolutely ridiculous," she whispered as Bill emerged from behind the garden shed wearing a rainbow clown wig that was two sizes too small for his enormous head. "Hey, you said we needed disguises," Bill protested, his voice muffled by an oversized red nose. "Besides, kids love clowns." "Kids are terrified of clowns, you nincompoop. And that wig makes you look like a demented poodle." Bill adjusted the wig defensively. "Well, your mustache is crooked and you smell like fertilizer." Molly peered around the hydrangeas at the towering mountain of wrapped presents stacked on a picnic table. Gold ribbons caught the afternoon sunlight, and she could practically hear the rustle of cash and gift cards hidden beneath the colorful paper. "Focus, Bill. The present table is twelve feet from the back door. We go in during the piñata chaos, grab what we can, and exit through the side gate." "What if someone sees us?" "That's why we have the disguises. If anyone asks, we're entertainment that got lost." Molly pulled out a small notebook covered in glitter stickers. "I've mapped out the optimal route. We avoid the bounce house, stay clear of the face painting station, and whatever you do, don't get distracted by cake." Bill's stomach rumbled audibly. "But it smells really good. Is that chocolate?" "William Theodore Baxter, we are professionals. We do not get sidetracked by baked goods during a heist." "Easy for you to say. You had lunch." A sudden cheer erupted from the backyard as someone announced it was piñata time. Molly's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "This is it. Operation Birthday Bash is a go." They crept around the corner just as a blindfolded eight-year-old began swinging wildly at a sparkly unicorn suspended from an oak tree. Children scattered in all directions, shrieking with delight and mild terror. "Perfect cover," Molly muttered, then froze as she spotted their target. The present table was now guarded by a stern-looking grandmother in a floral dress who was eyeing the chaos with the intensity of a security guard. "We've got a granny situation," Bill whispered. "I see her. Contingency plan B." "What's contingency plan B?" Molly grinned wickedly. "You're about to find out why I packed those juggling balls." Before Bill could protest, she shoved three colorful balls into his hands and gave him a firm push toward the party. "Showtime, Bobo."