Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07WVHHQSEFN6K06KHNT7NV

Rain stitched the alley behind Marigold Hall, where the children’s party glowed like a spilled jar of marbles. Molly flattened the blueprint on a milk crate and jabbed at the service entrance. “Easy,” she whispered. Bill, wearing a fake mustache that looked alarmed, peered through the rain. “Easy is how we got the clown gig.” Inside, balloons bobbed against the windows, and a table of presents sat under a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TREVOR! Molly smiled. “We slip in as entertainers, swap the gifts for decoys, and vanish before cake.” Bill frowned. “Decoys?” “Pillowcases stuffed with phone books.” “Brilliant,” he said. “Cruel to the books, though.” A siren wailed somewhere distant, and both thieves froze. Then the music inside swelled into a trumpet blast, masking the sound of their nerves. Molly straightened her gloves, already imagining the loot stacked in their van. Bill tipped his hat to the rain and grinned despite himself. “If anyone asks,” he said, “we’re the face-painting duo.” Molly laughed softly, and together they slipped toward the kitchen door, professional, cheerful, and utterly unfit for childcare. Behind them, the clown practice trumpet squealed, and Trevor’s grandmother applauded their stealth from a folding chair, mistaking everything for theater.