Page 33 of My Best French Wedding

Who was supposed to be leading a tour of the gardens in five minutes.

Hildy listened for several beats before risking a glance down the path. They must have decided to stagger their departures so no one would question their disheveled state. Did she have time to run away before Walter got here? She didn’t trust him not to sense her presence.

I can’t believe I just heard Walter Burns having sex.

It was like something out of the Brothers Grimm:Don’t go into the maze, little girl! You’ll regret it.

She took a tentative step onto the path, jerking out of sight when she heard someone coming. These footsteps were slower. Was that how Walter walked? Hildy wasn’t aware of having studied his gait, but something seemed off. Maybe a sensitive part of his anatomy had come into contact with the poky shrubs.

Not that she would wish that on him.

Much.

Hildy held her breath as he passed her hiding place.Keep walking, she silently urged.Nothing to see here!For once, he did as she wished.

She stared at the back of his head for several breaths before her brain caught up.

It wasn’t Walter.

If she’d paused to think, Hildy would have realized itcouldn’tbe Walter, but she’d been too busy freaking out to apply logic to the situation. Now that she was back in her right mind, Hildy wasted no time tracking down a likely source of intel.

“Hey,” she said to Fiona, who was lingering near the back of the group with Robbie. “Quick question about one of the guests. I’m trying to get a sense of who’s who, for the story, and I saw a guy with dark curly hair, fairly tall, leather bracelet on his wrist?”

That alone would have been enough of a clue that it wasn’t Walter. Hildy would bet good money her nemesis had never owned a bracelet, much less worn one.

“He looked a little old to be one of the groomsmen,” Hildy added, in case that narrowed it down.

“Did he have an accent?” Robbie asked.

“Um.” Hildy wasn’t sure whether people moaned with an accent.

“Better question,” Fiona said. “Was he bothering Maude?”

“I guess you could say that,” Hildy allowed.

“Then I knowexactlywho it was.” Fiona’s tone hinted at drama, like maybe she was aware of Maude’s extracurricular activities. “He’s the historic preservation guy. Every time Maude wants to do something at the castle, she has to ask him for permission. We’re pretty sure he’s deliberately making things harder. Here, jump through this hoop! Now go dive through that one over there.”

“And some of the hoops areon fire,” Robbie added.

Fiona leaned closer to Hildy, lowering her voice. “They’ve been going at it for months. Maude is usually super calm, but he really gets to her.”

“Yeah,” Hildy said, a little too emphatically. “I mean, I can imagine.”

“Those two are likerawr!Woof woof!” Robbie pretended each of his hands was a mouth, snarling and barking at each other.

“Something a lot of people don’t know about Robbie is that he was in the Puppeteering Club in college,” Fiona informed Hildy with obvious pride.

“We did really gentle stuff,” he assured Hildy. “Nothing hardcore.”

Maybe it was time to take another look at the wild world of marionettes. But first, Hildy had another interview to conduct.

She cornered Maude later that morning, on a shaded gravel path bordered by waist-high boxwoods. It was clear from the other woman’s body language that she didn’t welcome the interruption but was going to do her duty as hostess anyway.

“Are you enjoying the gardens?”

Not as much as you. Hildy kept that thought to herself. “They’re incredible.”

“This was one of my inspirations for the grounds at Château Fiona. Though obviously not on this scale.”