Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YG8NDW1GGM6DHE2GZZQW3R

Molly spread the blueprints across the kitchen table, pinning one corner beneath a jar of pickles and another beneath Bill’s elbow. The blueprints were actually a crayon drawing of a house, but they showed the essential features: the front door, the garden, and a large purple dog labeled “DAD.” “The invitation says noon,” Molly said. “We enter at twelve-oh-five, while everyone’s distracted by the balloon magician.” Bill studied the drawing. He had obtained it from his niece after promising to display it on his refrigerator. Technically, he had kept his word; the drawing had spent fourteen seconds on the refrigerator before Molly peeled it off. “What if the magician sees us?” he asked. “I’m wearing his exact cape.” “You’re a delivery man bringing emergency napkins for the impending cake disaster.” “There isn’t a cake disaster on the schedule.” “There will be if you keep leaning on the table in the surveillance photo.” Bill lifted his elbow. The photo, taken through his sister’s kitchen window, showed a magnificent three-tiered cake and a table whose legs bent at angles usually associated with exhausted spiders. Molly had circled both in red ink and added an arrow. Bill studied the arrow. “Did you get a picture of the presents?” “No. But a reliable source says there’ll be loads.” “Is that source my niece?” “She’s expecting loads. If she’s wrong, we’ll leave empty-handed.” Bill looked relieved until Molly opened a shopping bag and showed him a selection of fake mustaches, each attached to a different plastic nose. She selected a large pink one for herself and held it against her face. “I’ll carry the napkins,” he said. “How do we get the presents past the birthday girl?” “We say they need inspecting for invisible spiders. Children respect thoroughness.” “My niece would demand a warrant, then bite me until I produced a spider.” Molly considered this. She had met Bill’s niece once, at a family barbecue, where the girl had challenged her to an arm-wrestling match and won both rounds. The child had spent her winnings on more arm-wrestling matches. “Then we use the backup plan,” Molly said. “You distract her with a puppy. I take the loot.” “We don’t have a puppy.” “We have a sausage and a sock. With confidence, that’s practically a puppy.” Bill pulled the sock over the sausage and wiggled it. Its expression remained stoic. He added two peppercorns for eyes, whereupon it looked more like a worried finger. Molly drew a mouth on it with a felt-tip pen. “And when she discovers it’s a sausage?” Bill asked. “We’ll be halfway to the car, and you’ll finally have made a friend.” Bill placed the sausage carefully beside the blueprints. Outside, a car horn sounded three short blasts: their getaway driver announcing his arrival. Molly checked her watch, gathered the disguises and pickles, and headed for the door. “Why the pickles?” Bill asked. “For the magician. They’re his favorite.” “How do you know the magician?” “I’m his sister.” Bill took off the cape and put it back in the cupboard.