Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4031VMT7AMT6DCAX9ZWDYY

Molly crouched behind the hedge, peering through binoculars shaped like tiny champagne bottles. Across the street, the Wilberforce house glittered with balloons, streamers, and the sort of inflatable castle that suggested the parents had recently sold a kidney. Bill adjusted his black wool cap. It had a pom-pom. “I still say the pom-pom is a mistake,” Molly whispered. “It’s camouflage,” Bill said. “Children trust pom-poms.” “Children also trust clowns, and clowns are clearly criminals.” From inside came a shriek of delight, followed by the unmistakable thump of someone landing face-first in cake. Molly lowered the binoculars. “The presents are in the dining room,” she said. “Thirty-seven boxes. Possibly forty, if that big one’s not a garden appliance.” Bill consulted a crayon-drawn floor plan. “According to our source, the big one is a dinosaur costume.” “Our source was seven.” “Seven and a half. He was very specific.” Molly studied the house. “Front door’s impossible. Parents, grandparents, two aunties who look like they could lift a fridge, and a magician.” “Magician’s a concern.” “Magicians are always a concern. They have capes and nowhere sensible to keep their hands.” Bill pointed toward the side gate. “We go through there, cross the patio, enter via the kitchen window.” “The kitchen window is above the sink.” “I brought a suction cup.” “You brought a plunger.” “It’s a professional-grade plunger.” A woman appeared in the front garden carrying a tray of sausage rolls. Bill flattened himself into the hedge. Molly did not. Molly had standards. “New complication,” Bill breathed. “The sausage rolls are out.” “We are not stealing sausage rolls.” “I didn’t say we were.” “You looked at them like they owed you money.” The woman disappeared inside. Molly slipped a velvet mask over her face, decorated with silver sequins. “On my signal,” she said. “What’s the signal?” “A signal.” “That seems inefficient.” Molly sprang from the hedge, crossed the lawn, and reached the side gate with the fluid confidence of a woman who had spent fifteen years stealing things from people too distracted to notice. Bill followed with less fluid confidence and caught his trouser leg on a ceramic frog. The frog shattered. From inside, a child yelled, “Mum! The garden is exploding!” Bill froze. “That’s our signal, isn’t it?” “Move.” They hurried along the patio. Through the kitchen window, they could see a table laden with crisps, fizzy drinks, and a cake shaped like a pirate ship. A man in a paper crown stood by the sink, trying to remove a balloon from the dog’s mouth. Bill pressed the plunger to the glass. “You know,” Molly said, “a normal burglar would use a lock pick.” “A normal burglar lacks imagination.” The plunger squeaked. The dog looked up. Bill gave the dog a solemn nod. “Good afternoon.” The dog barked once, then ran straight into the dining room. “That’s bad,” Molly said. “It may be alerting us to an opportunity.” “It’s alerting everyone to us.” Bill yanked the window open. They tumbled into the kitchen just as a chorus began singing “Happy Birthday” in the next room. Molly grinned. “Perfect cover.” They crept into the dining room. The present table stood beneath a banner reading HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY, OSCAR! Each gift was wrapped in bright paper, bows bursting like small explosions. Bill rubbed his hands. “Look at that haul.” Molly lifted a parcel. It was feather-light. “This is a colouring book.” “Luxury edition?” “It says ‘My First Numbers.’” Bill opened another. “Socks.” “Put it back.” “They’ve got dinosaurs on them.” “Bill.” He replaced them reluctantly. Molly examined the pile with growing suspicion. Toy cars. Plastic slime. A puzzle featuring farm animals. A boxed microscope labeled AGES 8+. “Where are the expensive presents?” Bill asked. “The expensive presents are usually hidden until after the party.” “Then what are these?” Molly looked toward the doorway, where the dog sat wagging its tail. “Evidence,” she said. A small boy in a pirate hat appeared beside the dog. He held a wooden sword and stared at them. Bill smiled. “Hello, young sir.” The boy raised the sword. “Are you burglars?” Molly glanced at Bill. “No.” Bill nodded. “We’re gift inspectors.” The boy narrowed his eyes. “Why are you wearing masks?” “Health and safety,” Molly said. He considered this. “Can you inspect mine?” He handed Molly a present wrapped in gold paper. She weighed it in her hand. “What is it?” Bill asked. “A remote-control helicopter,” the boy said proudly. “For me.” Molly looked at the crowded room beyond, at the parents singing, the magician producing a rabbit from somebody’s handbag, and the dog chewing a balloon into a tragic string. Then she handed the gift back. “Excellent present,” she said. “Passes inspection.” Bill stared at her. “We’re leaving?” “We’re leaving.” “But the dinosaur socks.” Molly grabbed his sleeve and dragged him toward the kitchen window. Behind them, Oscar shouted, “Mum! The gift inspectors said my helicopter is excellent!” A woman called back, “That’s lovely, darling!” Bill climbed out after Molly, clutching nothing but the professional-grade plunger. At the hedge, he sighed. “Worst heist of my career.” Molly patted his shoulder. “Cheer up. We stole something.” “What?” Bill looked down. A glittery paper crown was stuck to his cap. He smiled. “Camouflage.”