Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAHHWFNN6TZNZF8FQEJFYK

The van smelled of cold fries and wet cardboard, which Molly decided was the perfect cover for a getaway. Bill sat in the passenger seat, gripping a clipboard with both hands like it might bite him. "Okay," Bill whispered. "Walk me through it one more time." Molly tapped the blueprint taped to the dashboard. It was a hand-drawn map of the Pemberton house, complete with a crayon bouncy castle. "Party starts at two. The clown arrives at two-fifteen. His name is Sprinkles, and he's afraid of ducks. I learned that from a very chatty mother at the grocery store." "Why do we need to know about the duck thing?" "When Sprinkles panics, the kids run to the backyard to see the pond. That leaves the gift table unguarded for exactly four minutes." "Four minutes doesn't sound like a lot of time to steal forty presents." "It's plenty if you're efficient. And you're going to be efficient, Bill." Bill swallowed. "What if a kid sees me?" "Then you smile, you wave, and you say you're the magician's assistant." "Do we have a magician's assistant?" "We do now." She reached into the back and tossed him a sequined leotard that had clearly seen better decades. Bill held it up by one finger, horrified. "Molly, I'm not wearing this." "It's a disguise." "It has glitter on it. Glitter gets everywhere. The mother will know." "The mother will be too busy fishing a bouncy castle pump out of the hedge to care." She checked her watch. "Side gate. You carry the box of balloons." "Why balloons?" "Nobody suspects a man carrying balloons. Balloons are the universal symbol of innocence." Bill nodded slowly, as if this were sound logic. "And the presents?" "Into the sack. It's a laundry bag, so try not to be dramatic about it." "I'm always dramatic about bags." They climbed out. The street was quiet except for a distant shriek of laughter and the thump of a bouncy castle. Bill sneezed. Twice. Molly pinched his arm. "Quiet." "I'm allergic to balloons." "You're allergic to everything." "I'm not allergic to lasagna." She stopped at the gate and peeked through. A bouncy castle, a dinosaur-shaped cake, a dozen children screaming with joy, and a mountain of wrapped presents beside a folding table. Bill whistled softly. "That's a lot of Lego." "Focus. Gift table, left side, by the hydrangeas. Sprinkles arrives in ninety seconds." Right on cue, a rusty clown car sputtered up the driveway. A small voice yelled, "Duck!" and a stampede of kids thundered toward the back lawn, leaving the table abandoned. Molly grinned. "Showtime." Bill hesitated. "Molly?" "Yes?" "Do you think the kids will be okay?" She paused, one hand on the gate. "They'll have cake, a castle, and at least one uncle with a mustache who ate too much sugar. Honestly? They'll survive." "Right. Right." He took a breath, adjusted his glitter leotard, and stepped through the gate like he owned the place. Then he tripped over the garden hose and sent the balloons flying in every direction. "Bill!" "I'm a professional!"