O’Connell was as good as his word, and there was a uniformed police officer posted outside Sara’s door. He had a clipboard with a list of names. Fortunately, mine was on it, but he insisted on seeing a photo ID. I showed him my New York State driver’s license, and he carefully checked my face against the thumbnail-size picture, ultimately deciding that there was enough of a resemblance to risk sending me into the room. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, handing back my license.

This “ma’am” really hurt, given that it took into account both my looks and my date of birth, which was plainly marked on my license. On any other day, I might have taken him aside and let him know that recklessly ma’am-ing people was not a recipe for success. In fact, if anything it was likely to slow one’s pace of advancement through life. But today I had too much else on my agenda to show the guy the error of his ways. Instead, I gave the door a gentle knock and let myself in.

“Hi, Rachel.” Sara was sitting up in bed, and, all things considered, she looked well. Still, there were more tubes and wires attached to her than there had been the day before. I guessed that the hospital was monitoring her condition carefully after the events of the previous evening.

Edie was there, too, as promised. It was fortunate that she wasn’t going through recruiting, because she’d definitely been putting in the hours here by Sara’s side. “You just missed Professor Beasley,” she told me.

Sara gave me a look that was almost conspiratorial. “If I’d known you’d be here so soon, we would have tried to make him stay longer.”

I felt myself blanch at the suggestion.

“Did he say where he was going?” I asked. If he did, I could call O’Connell so he could track him down.

“No,” said Edie. “He just said he had an appointment. He left right after we showed him the letter. He didn’t seem too worried about it.”

Probably because he was too busy thinking about where he was going to find his next prostitute or other Boston-area “lowlife” to strangle and dump. Or perhaps he was still figuring out where to dispose of the body he had stashed in the trunk of his car. I didn’t want to be the one to tell Sara and Edie that their revered professor was a serial killer, and if Beasley had come and gone without incident, there was probably no compelling need to do so. Besides, it would be breaking from pattern for him to try and kill a student. According to Hilary, who, sad to say, was the closest thing to an expert I had, serial killers tended to stick to a pattern, choosing the same type of victim for each repeated crime.

“He brought me a book and those flowers,” Sara said, pointing out a colorful arrangement. “I don’t know when he thinks I’m going to be reading poetry, though. I’m already days behind on my class work.”

“Speaking of which, any word from Gabrielle?” I asked.

Edie shook her head. “Nope. She’s still MIA. We were actually just talking to Professor Beasley about it.”

“It’s very weird,” commented Sara.

“Has she ever disappeared like this before?”

“No,” said Edie. “Never. And she’s not one to step aside when anything of significance is going on. Usually she likes to be in the middle of any action.”

“Odd,” I said. But now that I thought I knew who was behind the attacks on Sara, I couldn’t work up much interest in her Psycho Roommate. Nor was I terribly interested in the Creepy Stalker, but I asked anyhow. “So, tell me about the most recent letter.”

“It’s not a big deal,” said Sara.

“It is too a big deal,” protested her friend. “See that copy of US?” She pointed to the popular weekly on the bedside table. I nodded. “I bought it at Out of Town News yesterday afternoon before stopping by. Sara and I were actually looking at it together while I was here. If there’d been a letter in it then we would have seen it. But the letter would have had to have been in it when I bought it, which would be hard to pull off, or I would have had to put it in myself.”

“I knew it,” joked Sara. “You’re the one. Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?” she asked with mock seriousness. She handed me the letter.

It was a good thing that I’d had the cab ride to digest my cheeseburger. This newest installment definitely scored high on the upchuck meter.

My love-

My fury knows no bounds. What degenerate would dare to bring you harm? Never fear, my darling. I am doing everything possible to ensure you remain safe, as befits your rarified beauty.

“Yuck,” I said.

“I know. It’s pretty awful,” Sara agreed. “But at least it’s short.”

“Nice way to find the silver lining,” I said.

She gave a modest shrug. “I try.”

“So,” I summarized, “somebody slipped the letter into the magazine between when you two were reading it yesterday afternoon and this morning. Who’s been here between then and now?”

Sara grimaced. “I’ve been over that already with the police. Although, they’re more worried about whatever was put in my IV last night than the letter. But the list is pretty short, assuming somebody didn’t sneak in while I was asleep, which is entirely possible. Just Edie, you, Professor Beasley, my grandparents, Barbara and Adam Barnett, and Grant Crocker.”

She reeled the names off casually. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that by my count there were as many as two evildoers and one Creepy Stalker on that list alone. The good news, I guessed, was that they’d all been flagged as such to the police.

The nurse came in to give Sara some painkillers while we were talking, and Edie headed out shortly thereafter, leaving me alone with Sara. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer, but the nurse’s timing had been superb. I’d been worried about Sara’s reaction to the news about the takeover, but having her sedated in advance was helpful.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” I said, “and before I do I want you to promise that you won’t worry.” I should have known that was a bad way to start. Her shoulders seemed to rise up a couple of inches, assuming a stressed-out position around her ears. I hoped that the medicine wouldn’t take long to begin working its magic.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice grave with foreboding.

In as few words as possible, I laid out what had transpired at that morning’s board meeting.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking over what I’d told her. “I didn’t know Barbara had it in her,” she said eventually. “I mean, I always knew she wanted Adam in on the company, and it was pretty clear that neither Tom nor I were going to let it happen. But she’s found another way. And I’m sure she’s ecstatic, isn’t she?”

“Pretty much,” I agreed. Ecstatic was a fairly accurate way to describe Barbara’s reaction.

“More importantly, what do we do now?” She’d swung her legs out from under the covers and seemed to be getting ready to leave. She began examining the ways in which the various tubes and wires were attached to her, figuring out how to detach them.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I told her. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to help anyone by leaving here before you’re ready.” And with the guard posted by her door and Barbara Barnett still at liberty, this seemed to be the safest possible place for Sara right now.

“I’m ready,” she said. “Besides, I can’t just sit here while this is going on.” But she had to stifle a yawn while she said it.

“Yes, you can. First of all, you’re on medication and will probably be asleep in a few minutes. And second, I’m doing everything there is to be done.” I sketched out for her my assessment of our options, and then I related my discussion with the Caped Avenger, as well as my planned meeting with Barbara the next day.

“This guy, Whitaker Jamieson-do you really think he’ll change his mind?” she asked me.

“It’s a strong possibility,” I said. I hadn’t included the part about the Caped Avenger downing a quart of vodka and passing out on the banquette at the Ritz in my narrative. It didn’t seem like it would instill much confidence. Still, I held out a faint desperate hope that if I nagged him enough he would withdraw his support from the Barnetts. Or, even more faintly and more desperately, that Barbara would be arrested for attacking Sara and the entire takeover attempt would fall apart. It would be hard to implement a takeover from jail.