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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 306: Debate

I sat at the back of the hall, keeping to myself, though the crowd shifted and flowed around me, almost like a living being, a single entity made up of what felt like the majority of the town of Reading. Olivia's plan to live stream the event apparently wasn't necessary. No one wanted to miss the debate of the century from the looks of things.

It was hard to read the mood, as intense as the evening had become, with the two sides-Olivia vs. Geoffrey-seemed intent on building to a crescendo that would likely end in our cute little burg falling prey to a con man run by who knew what agenda.

Then again, I had to admit, the efforts we'd made to assemble Olivia's supporters to speak for her seemed to be helping somewhat. While I myself had to have Mom read our statement-I still couldn't speak very well, though it was better than it had been, two days later-the long line of business people willing to support our present mayor was heartening.