The blueprint for the perfect crime was spread out on Bill’s kitchen table, which was also a temporary repository for a half-eaten tub of coleslaw. Bill, a man whose face seemed to be sliding off his skull in protest of a life of poor decisions, jabbed a greasy finger at a crudely drawn map of 14 Cherrytree Lane. “Right, so the primary point of entry is the conservatory. The lock’s a joke, a simple five-pin tumbler. I could pick it with a taco.” He paused, eyeing the coleslaw. “Maybe not this taco. It’s a bit limp.” Molly, who was meticulously polishing her balaclava despite it being made of wool and not prone to smudging, shook her head. “Negative, Bill. The conservatory is where they’re keeping the ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ station. That’s a high-traffic zone. We need the element of surprise. We go through the bathroom window.” “The bathroom window?” Bill’s voice rose an octave. “Molly, have you seen the state of a children’s party bathroom? It’s a biohazard. A petri dish of unidentifiable stickiness. My boots will never recover.” “Your boots are already a testament to poor life choices,” Molly retorted, placing her now-perfectly pristine balaclava on the table. “The bathroom window is our only viable option. We’ll be in and out in ninety seconds. We hit the presents, which are, according to my intel, stacked unceremoniously by the fireplace. No security, just a harried-looking woman named Susan who’s refilling the juice boxes.” Bill grunted, folding his arms. “And what about the kids? They’re the wildcard, Molly. A chaotic swarm of tiny, sticky-fingered maniacs. One of them latches onto your leg, demanding a balloon animal, and the whole operation is sunk. They’ll be swarming us like locusts made of sugar and screaming.” “That’s why we need a distraction,” Molly said, a glint in her eye. She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out a large, obnoxious-looking piñata shaped like a grinning pirate. “While I’m securing the presents, you’re going to be at the far end of the garden, hosting the ‘Grand Piñata Bash’.” Bill stared at the papier-mâché pirate. “You want me to babysit a horde of children while you commit grand theft present? Molly, I don’t know the first thing about kids. I might accidentally say a swear word.” “Then don’t talk, Bill,” Molly sighed, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “Just swing the stick and look menacing. They’ll love it.”