Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the sticky diner table. "So the target's a seven-year-old's birthday party. Security?" "One grandmother, partially deaf. A golden retriever named Sprinkles who's afraid of balloons." "Balloons we can work with. Entry point?" "Backyard bounce house. We go in through the emergency flap, commando style." "Bill, I'm not fitting through a bounce house flap. I pulled my back stealing those cookies from the Scout troop last month." "Fine. We'll use the garage. The dad leaves it open because he's always forgetting the ice." "Amateur. What about the presents?" "Stacked on a folding table near the cake. We're looking at maybe fifteen, twenty wrapped packages. Could be Legos. Could be socks. High risk, uncertain reward." "That's the game we play. Getaway vehicle?" "My nephew's Power Wheels Jeep." "You're joking." "It's inconspicuous, Molly. Nobody suspects the tiny pink Jeep." "And the distraction?" "I hired a clown." "You hate clowns." "I do. Deeply. But that's what makes it the perfect crime. Who would ever believe I'd work with one?" "This is either genius or we're going to prison for the dumbest reason in criminal history." "Probably both."