Molly pressed her binoculars against the hedge, watching the balloon-festooned house with the intensity of a surgeon. "Seventeen kids," she whispered. "One clown. This is going to be trickier than the museum job." Bill crouched beside her, adjusting his fake mustache for the fourteenth time. "I still think we should wait until they cut the cake. Everyone crowds around for cake." "That's exactly what I'm counting on, genius. The presents are in the dining room. We go through the back door during the birthday song." "What about the clown?" Molly's eye twitched. "What about him?" "Clowns notice things, Molly. They're trained observers. All that juggling requires peripheral vision." "He's making balloon animals for minimum wage. He doesn't care about anything except getting to his car." Bill pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I've mapped the squeaky floorboards from the real estate listing photos." "That's actually impressive." "Also, there's a dog." "You're mentioning the dog now?" "Small dog. Pomeranian. Named Sprinkles, according to Instagram." Molly sighed heavily. "Fine. You distract Sprinkles. I'll grab the presents. We meet at the van in four minutes." "What if Sprinkles likes me?" "Then we have a new dog."