“Good to know,” I said, feeling flattered, skanky and anxious all at once. Sara couldn’t be aware just how precarious things with Peter seemed to be right now. Belly-up was hardly out of the question.

J ust as I was saying goodbye, Barbara Barnett breezed into Sara’s hospital room. Her presence was like a splash of ice water-I felt the flush still in my cheeks subside immediately.

“Hello, hello!” she announced herself, with no small measure of theatricality. She was wearing what looked to be a mink coat and carrying a huge bouquet of hothouse flowers. The clutch of tulips I’d brought seemed to wilt in comparison.

Barbara leaned over and gave Sara a kiss on the cheek. “Sara, honey. I can’t tell you how horrified I was to hear that you’d been hurt. How are you feeling?” The words came out at a rapid clip, but they were smoothed together by her Texas drawl.

“Much better,” answered Sara, thanking her for the flowers. Barbara rushed about the room, moving a smaller vase aside to make space for her own bouquet on Sara’s bedside table.

“Hello, Mrs. Barnett,” I said, standing and holding out my hand. “I’m Rachel Benjamin, from Winslow, Brown. I think we’ve met before, at Grenthaler board meetings, and Tom brought me to dinner a couple of times afterward.”

She flashed me her pageant-trained smile. “Of course. It’s nice to see you again.” She listened politely as I extended my condolences about Tom. “Why, thank you, honey. That’s awfully sweet of you. But right now I’m just worried about Sara.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Sara assured her. “I’m fine. Just a couple of stitches and a bit of a headache. It’s not a big deal.”

Barbara unbuttoned her coat, revealing a magenta suit that looked like it had been stolen from the wardrobe racks on the Dynasty set, and sat herself down in the guest chair that Edie had vacated. “Now where is that son of mine?” she asked. “He was finishing up a phone call, but he said he’d be right in.”

“It’s so nice of you to come by,” Sara said. “I know this can’t be an easy time for you.”

“Don’t be silly,” replied Barbara. She turned to me. “This girl’s like a daughter to me, Ms. Benjamin. Her daddy and my late husband were like this-” She held up two adjoining fingers to demonstrate just how close Tom and Samuel Grenthaler had been. “When her parents died, Tom and I felt an obligation to take care of their little girl. We were supposed to go with them that weekend to Vermont, you know. To the ski house. But my son came down with a touch of the flu and we had to cancel.” It seemed like overkill that Tom and Barbara Barnett would cancel their weekend plans because Adam, who must have been well into his twenties at the time, had a tummy ache, but I guessed it was fortunate for their sakes that they had. She turned her attention back to Sara. “Now, have they found the person who did this to you? I really can’t even begin to tell you how upset I am.”

“No,” said Sara. “But they’re looking into it.”

“I spoke to your grandparents, and they told me about those nasty letters you’ve been getting. The authorities do know about them, don’t they?” Barbara adjusted her skirt and reached up to smooth her already smooth, if big, blond coif.

“They do,” Sara confirmed.

“Well, I sure can tell you, I’ve seen enough of those movies on Lifetime Television about stalkers gone mad. I hope they’re taking these letters seriously.” I was somewhat disheartened to learn that the only other person I’d encountered who’d been watching Lifetime Television for Women was Barbara Barnett.

“I’m sure they are.”

“And what about this homeless man who says he saw everything? Are they sure he’s telling the truth?”

“I know the guy,” said Sara. “George wouldn’t hurt a fly. He might talk it to death, but he wouldn’t hurt it.”

There was a muted commotion in the hallway outside the open door, and a moment later Adam Barnett came in. He was well over six feet, but I doubted he weighed much more than I did. With his beaky nose and mousy features, he looked like central casting’s idea of Ichabod Crane. He was holding a cell phone in his hand, and we could hear a nurse’s chastising words trailing after him. “No cell phones in the hospital. It’s clearly posted. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

Adam looked vaguely sheepish, or maybe that was just how he usually looked. He said a stiff hello to Sara and inquired after her health. I reintroduced myself to him and was rewarded with a blank look and a shake of his distastefully clammy palm. I wished again that I’d gotten more than a fleeting glimpse of the Caped Avenger’s companions that morning, but from where I’d stood they could have been anyone. Besides, how would Adam and the Caped Avenger even know each other? He perched awkwardly on the windowsill next to his mother’s chair, his hands shoved into his coat pockets.

“We were just talking about who could be responsible for this terrible attack,” Barbara told him. “I think Sara’s being stalked.”

“Stalked?” asked Adam.

“Yes. Stalked. Some creep has been sending her anonymous letters. Honey, we need to do something about the security, here. Why, practically anyone can walk right in.”

“As long as they’re not using a cell phone,” said Sara, catching my eye and clearly trying not to smile.

“Adam and his cell phone. It’s work, work, work all the time for my boy,” Barbara told me proudly. Now Sara rolled her eyes.

“We’ll look into the security situation,” Barbara continued. “Maybe we can arrange for a guard of some sort. I’ll talk to your grandparents about it.”

“Really, that’s not necessary,” protested Sara.

“You’re right, honey. There’s no need to worry your grandparents-they’re already worried enough. Adam and I will take care of everything.”

Barbara then launched into a long story about a TV movie she’d seen about a stalker. I quickly realized I’d seen the same movie and felt my eyes begin to glaze over. I wanted to excuse myself, but it occurred to me that if I waited her out, I might be able to get her alone and ask about her shares. I stole a glance at Adam as his mother rambled on, and he was staring fixedly at Sara. Probably still harboring a torch, or whatever guys like him did when they were suffering from unrequited passion.

Barbara finally wrapped up her spiel just as a nurse came in, insisting that it was time for Sara’s medicine. Sara looked relieved. The color had receded somewhat from her face, and I had a feeling she could use a painkiller and a nap.

Barbara checked her watch. “Oh, my! I hadn’t realized the hour. We really must get going.” She said her goodbyes, but not before extracting Sara’s promise that she would call if there was anything she needed. “And we’ll see about the security. You have nothing to worry about, honey.”

I said goodbye, too, telling Sara I’d check in later, and rode down to the ground floor with Barbara and Adam. “Adam, honey, will you get the car from the garage? It’s so nasty out.” Given that an extended family of fur-covered creatures had given their lives to ensure Barbara’s warmth, her request seemed unnecessary, but Adam agreed dutifully, which was fine with me, as I now had my hoped-for moment alone with the chattering widow.

As gracefully as I could under the circumstances, I changed the topic from stalkers to stock by mentioning that I’d be at the Grenthaler board meeting the next day and asking if Barbara would be there, as well.

“Why, of course, honey. I do own ten percent of the company, now. I could hardly miss a board meeting. Now where did I put my gloves? I hope I didn’t leave them upstairs. I’ll have to go back and fetch them.” She opened her handbag and began rummaging through its contents.

“I’m glad that you want to stay involved,” I said.