The Great Escape Artist

I never expected to find myself dangling from a nineteenth-century chandelier in the Vatican Museums after hours, but life has a funny way of surprising you. Especially when you're a professional art authenticator with a talent for getting into – and hopefully out of – sticky situations.

"Any brilliant ideas, Dr. Blake?" whispered Marco from his precarious perch on the windowsill. My supposed partner in this authentication job was looking considerably less composed than when he'd convinced me to sneak in after closing time for an "urgent inspection."

I glanced down at the floor fifteen feet below, where two very annoyed security guards were conferring with what appeared to be their supervisor. My shoulder bag knocked against the crystal ornaments, creating a teeth-clenching tinkling sound.

"Working on it," I muttered, trying to shift my weight without setting off a cascade of centuries-old glass. "Check my bag for anything useful."

Marco carefully reached over and unzipped my messenger bag, pawing through its contents. "Let's see... your wallet, phone – no signal, of course – a protein bar, and... is this a yarn bowl?"

"My sister's idea of a joke birthday gift," I explained as he turned over the ceramic bowl decorated with the words 'I Crochet So I Don't Choke People' in flowing script. "She says I need a hobby to manage my stress levels."

"Fascinating family dynamics, but I don't see how–" Marco's words cut off as footsteps echoed from the corridor. "They're bringing reinforcements!"

I squinted at the bowl, an idea forming. "How good is your aim?"

Two minutes later, we watched in satisfaction as the security team charged down the wrong corridor, following the sound of the yarn bowl rolling and bouncing along the marble floor. The acoustics in these old buildings really were magnificent.

"That was either brilliant or incredibly stupid," Marco said as we slipped out through the service entrance. "Also, you owe me a new bowl."

"I'll get you one that says 'I Break Priceless Ceramics So I Don't Get Arrested,'" I promised, already mentally composing my resignation letter. Something told me the museum board wouldn't appreciate my after-hours investigation into their supposedly authentic Raphael – even if I had proved it was a fake.

As we merged into the evening crowd of tourists, I made a mental note to call my sister. Maybe she had a point about the stress management thing. Though I doubted crochet would quite cut it – perhaps rock climbing would be more my speed.

At least I could truthfully say this was the first time I'd weaponized handicraft supplies in the line of duty. Something told me it wouldn't be the last.