Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCR2P4Z2AFTCVX7ATGDT88H

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the van and smoothed them flat with the heel of her hand. They weren't blueprints, technically. They were a paper placemat from the Wagon Wheel Diner, and the layout of the Henderson back garden had been rendered in ketchup, mustard, and one alarming smear of gravy that represented the bouncy castle. Bill studied it with the gravity of a decorated general. The gravy troubled him. It had troubled him since Tuesday. "Clowns," he said. "There's always a clown." Molly tapped the mustard, which was the gift table, sagging beneath a glittering alp of wrapped boxes, each one containing something plastic, expensive, and easily fenced at the flea market by Sunday. Forty-one children were expected. Forty-one children meant forty-one presents, plus grandparents, who overcompensated. She had already acquired the costume: a face-painting smock, a foam nose, and a bandolier of balloons. Bill had acquired a wheelbarrow, which he considered his masterstroke, and a bag of peanut brittle for reasons he refused to disclose. The plan hinged on the piñata. During the swinging, all adult eyes would follow the stick. Molly inflated a balloon, twisting it into a lopsided giraffe. "Nobody," she said, "ever suspects the balloon lady."