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Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries

I’m an international, multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in my head. As a singer, songwriter, independent filmmaker and improv teacher and performer, my life has always been about creating and sharing what I create with others. Now that my dream to write for a living is a reality, with over a hundred titles in happy publication and no end in sight, I live in beautiful Prince Edward Island, Canada, with my giant cats, pug overlord and overlady and my Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn. A Poo Poo Kind of Morning I tried not to look down the mouth of hell staring back at me from inside the glaringly pristine outer ceramic shell of the white throne, my throat catching, stomach doing half flips and a rather impressive rollover routine that would have gotten at least a 9.5 even from the Russian judges. Instead, I forced myself to smile and swallow and remind myself the elbow length yellow rubber gloves grasping the handle of the standard issue plunger were all that stood between me and Pooageddon. Suck it up, Fee. Big girl panties and adulting and all that. “At what point,” I waved the dripping plunger, wincing as droplets of yuck flew, “did I think owning a bed and breakfast was going to be glamorous and romantic?” Fiona Fleming is in so much trouble. Her recently inherited bed and breakfast might not actually be hers thanks to the underhanded misdealings of the local real estate bully. Despite her grandmother's last will and testament, Fee might me out of luck and on the street before she even gets settled. But when her new enemy floats belly up in her koi pond, she's the prime suspect in his murder! Can she uncover who the real killer is before the smoking hot new sheriff puts her behind bars instead of asking her out on a date? Dive into book one of the Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries, and don't miss the exciting sequels!

Patti Larsen · Realistic
Not enough ratings
492 Chs

Chapter 214: Immoral And Illegal

As it turned out there was no time for an internet search. From the moment I returned to Petunia's until dinner service ended it seemed like there was one fire to put out after another, from a freak plumbing issue in room nine to failure of delivery of our bread order from French's Handmade Bakery I had to handle personally to a misplaced reservation that left me pulling my hair out until Jill and Robert finally finished their examination of Lewis's room. Not to mention Clara's unexpected decision to back out entirely with a simple, "I quit," phone call leaving me growling.

I exhaled as I stacked the last plate into the dishwasher and turned it on, Daisy sagging over the counter, Mom beside her, the two of them looking about as wiped out as I felt. The other staff had already gone home, just as well. I think my meanness trend hadn't eased up though I wasn't sure why telling Suzie/Megan/Chloe/Whoever to hustle her butt was enough cause to make the kid cry.