Run: 2026-07-09-01KX418MS9GZV5NZYRKCNP450H

Molly spread the crayon blueprint across the café table. A purple octopus grinned beneath the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAISIE! “This is your plan?” “It’s a reconnaissance document.” “It’s a placemat.” “Obtained at considerable personal risk.” “The waitress gave it to you.” “She asked whether I wanted crayons. I had to say yes with dignity.” Bill studied Molly’s annotations. The party occupied the community hall on Saturday afternoon. A clown, a magician, and twenty-seven children guarded an estimated mountain of presents. “How do we get inside?” “Disguises.” “Parents?” “Too much responsibility.” “Entertainers?” “I can’t juggle.” “You can barely walk while holding soup.” “That incident involved an escalator.” Molly tapped the drawing. Her purple octopus had acquired a moustache. “We go as children’s entertainers called Professor Pockets and Madame Sneaky.” “Madame Sneaky sounds criminal.” “It’s French.” “It isn’t.” “The parents won’t know. They’ll be exhausted.” Outside, a bus hissed past. Inside, Bill stole a biscuit from Molly’s saucer and attempted innocence. “I saw that.” “I’m rehearsing.” “You’re chewing the evidence.” “I’m method.” Molly retrieved a suitcase from beneath the table. She opened it with theatrical caution. Inside sat two wigs, a rubber chicken, three smoke bombs, and a collapsible trombone. “Why a trombone?” “Distraction.” “Can you play it?” “Not well.” “That may be more distracting.” “Our target is the gift table. At three fifteen, the magician asks everyone to close their eyes. We load the presents into the laundry trolley and exit through the kitchen.” “What if someone opens their eyes?” “Smoke bomb.” “At a children’s party?” “Fine. Bubbles.” “That’s surprisingly responsible.” “I contain multitudes.” Bill lifted the rubber chicken. It squeaked accusingly. “What’s this for?” “Plan B.” “Which is?” “We pretend there’s been a poultry emergency.” “No one has ever believed in a poultry emergency.” “Then history is waiting.” A waitress approached. Molly swept the equipment into the suitcase, accidentally sounding the trombone. Every customer turned. “Birthday performers,” Bill explained. The waitress stared at his biscuit. “That was hers.” “Method acting.” When she left, Molly leaned closer. “There’s one complication. Maisie’s grandfather is a retired detective.” “Retired means old.” “He solved the Diamond Aquarium robbery.” Bill lowered the chicken. “That was you.” “It was mostly you.” “I wore flippers for six hours.” “You looked convincing.” “I still get nervous near gravel.” Molly folded the placemat and tucked it away. “Grandfather will recognize us.” “So we abandon the job?” “Certainly not. We alter the disguises.” “To what?” Molly produced two glittery tiaras. “Princesses.” Bill examined his reflection in a teaspoon. “I won’t shave.” “Excellent. Children respect authenticity.” “And after we steal everything?” “We unwrap the presents, sell the toys, and donate the books.” “Why donate the books?” “Professional ethics.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Can I keep the dinosaur?” “If there is one.” “There’s always a dinosaur.” They shook hands over the suitcase. The rubber chicken squeaked between their palms. At the next table, a small girl lowered her colouring book. “Mum,” she called, “the princesses are stealing my party.” Molly froze. Bill smiled weakly. “Poultry emergency?” he whispered. Molly grabbed the chicken. “Poultry emergency.”