Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08N6VPQVKD2N62PKQKWN3X

Molly spread a crumpled flyer across the kitchen table and stabbed at the picture with a butter knife. “There. Saturday afternoon. The Puddleby Primary summer party.” Bill leaned over it, squinting. “That’s a clown with one eyebrow, not a flyer.” “It’s called artistic flair. The important part is the words: free cake, music, and presents stacked in the hall until the raffle.” Bill’s eyes lit up. “Presents stacked in the hall is my favorite sentence.” Molly smiled. “Mine too. It’s got a nice, thieving ring to it.” Bill pulled out a pencil and began sketching a route on the back of an old shopping list. “So we go in as parents.” Molly snorted. “You, as a parent? Bill, you look like a man who’s been asked to mind a coat and immediately lost the sleeves.” “Parents come in all shapes.” “Not that shape.” He tapped the paper. “Fine. Then volunteers. I can hold a clipboard.” “You can’t hold a clipboard without looking like you’ve stolen it.” “I could wear a tie.” “You’d still look suspicious. A tie on you is basically a confession.” Bill sat back. “Right. So what’s your genius plan, then?” Molly tapped the flyer again. “We arrive during the magic show. Everyone’s watching a rabbit be emotionally abused. The hall is loud, the children are sticky, and the grown-ups are distracted by juice and social guilt.” “That part I can work with.” “Good. You charm the woman at the raffle table.” Bill frowned. “Charm?” “Yes. Smile. Nod. Say things like, ‘What a delightful undertaking.’” “I don’t talk like that.” “You do now.” “I hate this already.” “You’ll survive. While she’s busy admiring your fake sophistication, I’ll mingle near the present pile.” Bill lowered his voice. “And then?” “And then,” Molly said, “I make the presents disappear.” Bill blinked. “Disappear how?” Molly looked offended. “Bill, honestly. I’m a thief, not a magician. I move them.” “To where?” “To a more private location.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s a better answer than ‘to the police’.” He scratched his chin. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to just take the biggest one and leave?” Molly stared at him. “Bill, that is the thinking of a man who gets caught by a cucumber sandwich.” “It was a very suspicious sandwich.” “We take all of them.” “All of them?” “All of them.” Bill looked toward the window as though expecting the universe to intervene. “That’s a lot of presents.” “Yes, Bill. That’s why they’re worth stealing.” He lowered his voice further. “What about the children?” Molly paused just long enough to make him squirm. “What about them?” Bill winced. “I mean, they’ll notice.” “They’ll notice eventually. That’s what makes it a heist.” “It sounds cruel when you say it slowly.” “It sounds profitable when I say it quickly.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “Right. Profit. I’m in.” Molly folded the flyer and slipped it into her coat pocket. “You’ll need a disguise.” “I knew it.” “I was thinking something festive. Maybe a balloon animal.” “I’m not dressing as a balloon animal.” “You are if you want to blend in.” “I’d rather look dangerous.” Molly grinned. “At a children’s party? You’ll look like a man who’s lost a fight with a disco ball.” Bill pointed at her. “What about you?” “I’ll be a capable, respectable woman with a clipboard.” He laughed despite himself. “You? Respectable?” “Only on the outside.” Bill stood and picked up his hat. “So we’re agreed. Saturday, magic show, fake smiles, stolen presents, and no balloon animal.” Molly opened the door and ushered him into the hallway. “No promises on the balloon animal. But yes, Bill. Saturday we make a room full of children deeply unhappy.” Bill grinned. “That does sound rude.” Molly pulled the door shut behind them. “That’s because it is. Now come on. We have a party to ruin.”