# The Cake Caper Molly spread the photographs across the worn hotel table, her finger tracing the perimeter of the Riverside Country Club's east wing. Bill leaned back in his chair, a half-eaten sandwich dangling from his mouth. "Okay, so here's what I'm thinking," Molly said, tapping a photo of the ballroom. "We go in during the piñata chaos. Maximum confusion, minimum witnesses." Bill set down his sandwich. "The piñata? That's your security window? Those kids are vicious, Molly. I've seen nature documentaries less chaotic than a birthday party piñata breakdown." "Exactly. Nobody's watching the gift table when everyone's scrambling for candy." She pulled out another photograph showing a meticulously wrapped stack of presents. "Look at this. We're talking fifty, maybe sixty presents. Conservative estimate puts us at four grand in merchandise." "Hold on," Bill interrupted, straightening up. "Did you case the adults? Because I'm not going back to jail for stealing Barbie Dreamhouses and Nintendo Switch consoles. I have a reputation." Molly rolled her eyes. "Your reputation is that you got caught stealing garden gnomes. Twice. But yes, I counted twelve adults maximum. The birthday kid's parents, some grandparents, maybe a few hired entertainers. They'll all be distracted with cake service around three o'clock." Bill walked over to the window, staring at the street below. "What about the party favors? Those little goodie bags? Because if we're going to do this, we do it clean. We take the big presents, we leave the five-dollar plastic whistles and temporary tattoos." "Obviously," Molly said, though she hadn't actually planned that far ahead. "We're not animals." He turned back to face her. "And the getaway? Please tell me you have a getaway plan that doesn't involve a minivan with expired plates like last time." "I've got a contact with access to a catering truck. We'll be parked outside the service entrance. Load everything in thirty seconds, we're gone before anyone realizes the gifts are missing." Bill returned to the table, studying the blueprints. "The gift table is against the north wall, right? So we come in through the kitchen, position ourselves by three o'clock, wait for the piñata coordinator to signal the chaos, grab what we can carry in two trips, maximum." "I was thinking one trip," Molly offered hopefully. "One trip? Are you insane? We're talking heavy boxes here. Bicycles. Board games. You want to throw your back out committing felony theft at a children's birthday party? No. Two trips." Molly nodded slowly. Bill was right. He usually was about logistics, even if his execution was occasionally questionable. "Fine. Two trips. But we need to be surgical about which presents we take. No randomness." Bill pointed to a photo of the gift table, where expensive-looking boxes were stacked in pyramid fashion. "The big ones. Top shelf. Those are the money makers." Molly smiled despite herself. "So we're doing this?" Bill picked his sandwich back up, resigned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but yes. We're robbing a five-year-old's birthday party. My mother would be so ashamed."