Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the van, smoothing out the crayon-stained edges with her palm. The blueprint had cost them three juice boxes and a pack of fruit snacks, extracted from a surprisingly shrewd six-year-old informant named Timmy. "Okay, here's the situation," she said, tapping the map with a ballpoint pen. "The party kicks off at two. The presents will be stacked on a folding table near the bounce house. We've got a window of maybe twenty minutes during the piñata phase when every kid and parent will be in the backyard." Bill leaned against the van and crossed his arms. He was wearing a purple polo shirt with a cartoon dinosaur embroidered on the chest, which Molly had insisted was essential to blending in. "I still don't understand why we can't just walk in the front door," he said. "Because, Bill, Janet Henderson is running security at the sign-in table, and that woman has the memory of an elephant crossed with a detective. She knows every parent in a four-mile radius. If she doesn't recognize you, she'll ask questions." "So what's the play?" "You're going in as Chuckles." Bill stared at her for a long moment. His left eye twitched. "I'm not wearing the clown suit again, Molly." "You are absolutely wearing the clown suit again." "Last time I wore that thing, a toddler bit me. On the knee. I still have the mark." "That's because you broke character. You stopped honking the horn." "The horn was broken!" "A good clown improvises, Bill." He rubbed his face with both hands, the dinosaur on his shirt stretching with the motion. Molly could see him cycling through the five stages of grief in roughly four seconds, finally arriving at acceptance with a heavy sigh that fogged the van window. "Fine. I'm Chuckles. Then what?" Molly grinned and circled a section of the map where Timmy had drawn what appeared to be either a dragon or a golden retriever. "You keep them distracted with balloon animals in the backyard. I come in through the side gate dressed as a delivery person, load the presents into the dolly, and wheel everything out to the van. Simple, clean, elegant." "What about the dog?" Bill asked, pointing to the ambiguous creature on the map. "That's their dog, Biscuit. Timmy says he's friendly." "Timmy also said his sister was a vampire, so forgive me if I don't trust his intel completely." Molly folded the map and tucked it into her jacket pocket. The afternoon sun caught the sequins on the clown suit hanging in the van's back window, throwing tiny rainbows across Bill's miserable face. She placed a hand on his shoulder with the gravity of a general addressing her finest soldier. "Bill, there are thirty-two presents on that table. Thirty-two. That's enough to fence for rent and groceries for two months. All you have to do is make balloon animals and not get bitten." Bill reached for the clown suit. "If a kid bites me, I'm retiring."