Hidden in the Wall. Valerie Hansen

so.” It seemed a waste of time to just stand here and watch so she began to relieve him of the small, flat pieces of chalky board as he broke them loose. If Trevor was surprised, he gave no indication of it, although she suspected he might be grinning behind his mask.

      “Where shall I pile all this trash?” she asked.

      “Any place out of my way. Just keep it on the tarp. It’ll make cleanup easier.”

      “Right.” She had dragged several slivers of board aside and was lifting a larger one when she stopped. “Trevor?”

      Sweating in spite of the air-conditioning, he swiveled in her direction. “What? Did you find a dead mouse?”

      “No. I don’t know what this is. It looks like writing of some sort.” Steff steadied the board fragment with one hand and used the other to brush away the powdery dust. “Do you think it’s important?”

      “I doubt it. One of the men who built the original wall probably drew his initials for fun. My guys do it all the time. You know, like the old ‘Kilroy was here’ notes the soldiers used to leave during World War II. It’s nothing.”

      “Are you sure? I mean, I’d like to be positive. It looks to me as if it was written by a small finger dipped in something. And look. Are these spatters of blood?”

      “What?”

      “Never mind. I don’t know why I said that. I guess these drops at the edges reminded me of blood.”

      “Your imagination is working overtime, that’s all.”

      “I suppose so.” Her brow knit as she studied her find. “Do you think this initial was meant to be a P or an R?”

      He leaned closer and squinted. “Can’t tell. The way it kind of trails off at the end it could be either.”

      “I know. I suppose we should notify the police, just in case, but my father is friends with the chief and if it winds up to be nothing important, as you say, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

      “Plus, if there’s an investigation, your office may look like this for weeks or maybe even months while they poke around.”

      “I hadn’t thought of that.”

      “It’s happened to construction projects more times than I care to remember,” Trevor said. “Now, forget that piece of trash and let me do my job. Okay?”

      “Okay.” She pulled a face. “I know it’s foolish to cause a stir, especially since my father already acts as if he thinks he’s the only one capable of logical reasoning. I’ve been trying to prove myself to him since he first helped me get this job and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever succeed.”

      Trevor turned away to hide his reaction. Stephanie didn’t make any bones about the fact she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Even now that they were both in their thirties, nothing had really changed between them. They might be professionals in their respective fields but he was still blue collar and she was still acting the part of royalty, a part she’d been born and raised to play. That was what had caused him to start teasing her by calling her Princess in the first place, back when she and his sister had been college roommates.

      He gave a long, loud sigh. “Look, Princess, you do whatever you want with that old piece of plasterboard. Keep it or junk it or tie a ribbon around it and give it to Daddy as a gift. I couldn’t care less.”

      “Don’t be absurd.” Steff rolled her eyes and arched her brows. “I told you, I have no intention of involving my father.”

      Backing off, she studied the scrawled letter, then began to sort through the other rubble to see if she could find more writing. That one letter and its accompanying splatter seemed to be all there was, which was probably a good sign.

      Now that she’d had time to think about it she supposed the marks could just as easily have been made with mud or paint or even chocolate, as dark brown as they were. Why she had assumed it might be blood puzzled her. Maybe she’d been reading too many mystery and suspense stories lately.

      Of course. That had to be the reason. There was no need to preserve the board. After all, that wall had been built ages ago and if there had been any mayhem committed on campus her family would have known about it. Plenty of tales concerning the founding and growth of Magnolia College had been told and retold so often that she was sick of hearing them. None had involved bodily injury, unless a few broken bones on the football field counted.

      She stared at the board fragment one more time, shivered slightly, then laid it on the pile of refuse with all the others.

      There was nothing important or ominous about the initial. There couldn’t be. Magnolia College was a safe haven and always had been. She’d stake her life on it.

      The frightening incident prior to the reunion gala flashed into her mind and made her reconsider. She’d been unusually jumpy ever since that night and nothing she did seemed to erase her lingering, prickling sense of dread.

      The more Trevor thought about Steff’s notion that the letter scrawled inside the wall might have a sinister origin, the more the whole idea bothered him. It was probably ridiculous to take her suggestion seriously, but if he didn’t at least look into the possibility of foul play, he’d always wonder. Once he had a chance to sort through the rubble in private, he’d locate the supposedly bloody writing and put it aside until he could decide what to do with it—if anything. If he did take it to the cops, not only might the job be stopped, he might also have to tear up more of Steff’s office looking for further clues. And for what? A silly suspicion of foul play? The idea was ludicrous.

      He made several trips out to a Dumpster he’d placed nearby for construction waste, then began to roll up the tarp containing the bulk of the chalky dust.

      “Can I help you with that?” Steff asked.

      Trevor laughed as he eyed her. “I think your main job should be cleaning yourself up. You’re a mess, Princess.”

      “I wouldn’t talk if I were you.” She dusted her hands together before she took off her mask and handed it to him. “At least I’m a blond to start with. Your dark hair is practically white.”

      “I probably turned gray because you were trying to help me,” Trevor quipped. He was growing more and more aware that they were both beginning to engage in the witty verbal sparring that had been such a big part of their relationship many years ago and it pleased him.

      “Oh, thanks a lot. I sacrifice my manicure for you and what do I get? Sarcasm.”

      “Sorry about your nail polish. You should have taken my advice and stood back where you weren’t in the way.”

      “I wasn’t in the way. Even if you’re not willing to admit it, I helped you a lot.”

      “Yes, you did.” He laughed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m offering you a job on one of my crews.”

      “I don’t need another job. I have plenty to do already,” Steff replied. Looking at her dust-coated desk and chair she shook her head and sighed. “I knew remodeling would be messy but I had no idea it would be this bad.”

      “I warned you.”

      “Yes, you did. I thought just putting my files away, clearing off my desk and covering my computer would suffice, but I can see I underestimated the problem.” She started brushing off her slacks, then stopped. “I’m just making things worse. I’d better go outside to do this. Excuse me?”

      As she sidled past, Trevor gave her as much room as possible and finished gathering up the folded tarp. It amused him to see the perfect Ms. Stephanie Kessler as dirty as a common worker, yet, even covered with dust, she was elegant and graceful.

      “Get a grip, Whittaker,” he muttered to himself. “You have no business even noticing that woman, let alone wasting energy thinking about her.”

      For the