Hector raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“I’m afraid we’ll have to go through all this crap to see if Doug was telling the truth.”
Yippee.
“At least you know what was going on with all those signs about the bar, although how Doug and Gill thought it would get you out of here is beyond me.”
Hector shrugged. “I figure they thought Harvey would fire me if he thought I was the one doing it. Without a job, I’d lose the farm, and then they could continue their search.”
The sheriff chuckled. “That’s so stupid, it actually makes sense.”
Hector hated to think he’d figured it out so quickly, but it just made sense to him. Granted, he’d taken a couple of big leaps while talking to Doug, but he really hadn’t thought the man would agree with him, or admit what he’d done. Once he had, it had all made sense.
“If there really is lost treasure buried in this mess somewhere, what are you going to do with it?”
“Give it to Happy.” Hector smiled down at the man wrapped in his arms. “I have all the treasure I need right here.”
Chapter Fifteen
Will glanced up from the hole in the wall he was patching when someone knocked on the door. He shot a quick look down the hallway to where Hector was sanding the trim.
Hector continued to sand the wood, so Will put down his tools and went to answer the door. He was getting better at not being afraid when someone knocked on the door, but only if Hector was there. Hector said he had a form of PTSD, a social anxiety disorder. They had been talking about Will finding a therapist, but it was still in the talking stage.
“Hello, Sheriff,” he said when he opened the door and found the man standing there.
The man smiled at him. “Afternoon, Will.”
Will stood back and held the door open. “Would you like to come in?”
The sheriff stepped inside followed by another man in a dark-colored suit. Will waited for his panic to hit him, but it didn’t. There was a hint of concern, but not outright fear. Will could handle that.
“Sheriff,” Hector said as he walked over and looped an arm around Will’s shoulder. “Is there a problem?”
“No, not at all,” Sheriff Riley replied before gesturing to the man in the suit. “This is Agent Darcy. He’d like to talk to Will for a few minutes.”
Will’s stomach started to clench. “I already gave my statement last week.”
“This isn’t about the shooting, Will,” the sheriff quickly said. “Agent Darcy needs to talk to you about why Agent Frisk and Agent Abrams wanted to talk to you.”
“Why don’t we sit down,” Hector suggested.
Will followed Hector over to the couch and sat down next to him so close their thighs rubbed together. The arm Hector rested across his shoulders gave Will the courage to look at the agent. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“Mr. Jacks, I’m here on behalf of Wilson Khor.”
Will grimaced. “My grandfather?”
“No, sir. Wilson Khor II. Your father.”
“My father is dead.”
“No, sir, he is not. Senator Khor didn’t—”
Will coughed. “Senator?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Khor has been a senator for nearly twenty years.”
“Are you sure he’s my father? I was told my father was dead.”
