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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 217: Town Meetings Are A Hoot

I was still thinking when I entered the foyer of Petunia's to find Dad waiting for me, hunched over the keyboard of my computer. The perfect person to have this conversation with. But the moment I set foot in the entry, Dad leaped to his feet and grabbed for his coat, eyes sparkling.

"Glad you're back," he said. "Feel like going out again?"

"And leave who to watch Petunia's?" I unhooked my pug from her harness, startled to find Mom emerging from the kitchen with a grim look on her face.

"Just go with your father," she said. "You'd better hurry or you'll miss it."

I frowned up at Dad who seemed more excited than concerned, despite Mom's attitude. Were they talking again? He didn't appear uncomfortable with her presence, so maybe they'd had the conversation they needed to in order to salve their wounds. More other people's lives unfolding without me. How dared they when they knew I needed in on every detail?