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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 376: All's Well

I smiled at the departing couple who waved and left, dragging their bags behind them, exhaling over the rim of my coffee cup, sending a waft of steam in their direction. Things had settled into a more normal-yes, still hectic-pace of life with the tournament over and most of the guests for that event gone home with the arrival of Monday morning.

I touched at the bandage over my brow where I'd had three stitches to close the gap the frame of Crew's truck left behind, wincing a bit and trying to remind myself not to do that since it hurt every single time my fingers explored the area. Yeah, because saying, "Don't touch it, Fee," was working. At least the aching headache and disorientation of a concussion wasn't my lot this time around. I'd hit my head hard enough, the ER doctor said, to knock myself out but not quite enough to rattle my brains.

Not even Crew had the courage to make a joke about that.