Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the sticky diner table, pushing aside a plate of cold fries. The blueprint, sketched on the back of a Chuck E. Cheese napkin, detailed the backyard of 47 Maple Drive with alarming precision. She had spent three days conducting surveillance from behind a mailbox dressed as a bush. Bill squinted at the diagram, turning it sideways, then upside down. "That's the bouncy castle," Molly whispered, tapping a wobbly square near the fence line. The bouncy castle was the problem. It blocked the only direct route between the gate and the gift table, which according to Molly's intelligence sat beneath a paper streamer canopy on the east side of the patio. They would need to go around it or, God forbid, through it. Bill had bad knees and worse balance. A bouncy castle could end his career. "We go at cake time," Bill said. "Everyone watches the candles." Molly nodded slowly, already imagining the haul. The birthday boy was turning seven, and his parents were wealthy, guilt-ridden divorces who compensated with expensive gifts. They were looking at premium toy territory. Possibly even electronics. She folded the napkin carefully and slid it into her jacket. This was going to be beautiful.