Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HV71YG2Q3WV2EYWXNX18T

From the bakery opposite the community hall, Molly surveyed the birthday party through binoculars shaped like opera glasses. She had bought them at a charity shop and refused to admit they were binoculars. “That’s thirty-one presents,” she said. “Thirty-two if the enormous bow in the corner has something under it. Bill, this is our greatest opportunity since the unattended cheese hamper.” Bill lowered his newspaper. He had cut two eyeholes in it, then spent twenty minutes reading a menu printed on the back. “The hamper was attended,” he said. “By a goose. I still have the scar, and you still owe me for the trousers.” Inside the hall, children swarmed around a magician whose hat appeared to contain an inexhaustible supply of scarves. The present table stood behind him, bright as a treasure chest. “We go in as party entertainers,” Molly said. “You’ll be the magician’s assistant. I’ll be the mysterious woman who carries things away while everyone applauds.” “Why do I have to be the assistant? I can do magic. Watch.” Bill produced a coin from behind Molly’s ear. It was warm and slightly sticky. “That was in your hand the entire time. Also, it’s my coin. You borrowed it for the bus and we walked here.” Bill returned the coin with a wounded expression. Molly studied the hall again. A small boy in a paper crown pressed his nose against the window and waved at her. “New complication,” she said. “The birthday monarch has spotted us. Smile like an entertainer, not like a man identifying valuables.” Bill smiled. The boy recoiled and ran off. Molly folded the opera glasses and put them away. Across the street, the magician bowed; the scarves tangled around his ankles. “We could just walk in,” Bill said. “There’s a sign on the door. It says EVERYONE WELCOME. That’s practically an invitation to criminals.” “It’s an invitation to the party. We still need a reason to leave with thirty-two parcels and not be followed by thirty-two angry children.” The hall door opened. A woman carried out a cardboard box labelled CAKE FOR THE SHELTER. Behind her, the crowned boy struggled under a sack nearly his size. Molly rose from the bakery table. “Change of plan. The presents are for the shelter, aren’t they? The children are collecting them.” “Excellent,” Bill said. “Then we’ll have an even larger haul when we intercept the shelter. Do shelters have geese?” Molly stared at him until his smile retreated. She crossed the street, Bill trailing behind, and held the door for the boy. He thanked her and pointed to a pile of empty boxes. “Can you help?” he asked. “We need to carry everything to the van.” Molly looked at Bill. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of an opportunity he was finally clever enough to refuse. “Of course,” Molly told the boy. “My assistant loves carrying things.” Bill picked up two boxes. “For the record,” he muttered, “I was going to offer.”