“Hi,” she said cautiously, poking her head around the doorframe. Larry was in a double, but there wasn’t anyone in the other bed, and the nurse on duty said that his wife was out looking for some dinner. It was the usual hospital semiprivate; Larry was in the bed nearest the window and the bathroom; Hillcrest had their bathrooms on the outside wall rather than the inside. The curtains were closed, and the TV was off, with only the light over his bed still burning. This was a good time to talk to him.

Heck, it was a great time to talk to him; if he felt like talking to her, he wouldn’t be inhibited by the presence of a roommate or his wife.

“Hi,” he said, looking up from the paper he was trying to read; from the way he’d been squinting at it, he wasn’t having much luck with it. “What can I do for you?”

He looked interested, at least, and not like she was imposing on him. She took another step that put her in the doorway. Now that she was closer, there was no doubt of his Osage blood. Tall, rangy, with dark brown hair and mild eyes that were probably deceptive, he looked enough like her father to be a cousin. He’d gotten someone to bring him real pajamas, which was just as well, because she figured that, tall as he was, the hospital gown was just long enough to save him from technical exposure.

“I’m Jennifer Talldeer, and the insurance company that covers Rod Calligan hired me to ask some questions,” she said, carefully. “I promise I’m not from Workman’s Comp, and nothing you tell me will have any effect on your hospitalization. Do you feel like answering them? If you don’t, I’ll be happy to leave you in peace, but if you do, it might clear up a lot of things.”

“I feel like just about anything other than watching a rerun or trying to read this paper,” he said, giving her a wan but friendly grin. “They gave me a little stuff for the pain, and it makes fine print damn hard to read. Just don’t make me laugh or ask me to shake hands, okay?” As he put the paper down, she saw that three of the fingers on his right hand were splinted and bandaged.

So, I got lucky, Davidwise. Either he doesn’t like being bossed around by anyone, whether or not they’re an activist, or they just haven’t gotten to him yet.

Encouraged, she entered his room and took a seat beside the bed. “I’d like to start with some questions about some of the guys who quit,” she said. “Was there bad blood between them and their boss?”