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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
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492 Chs

Chapter 424: About Thea

Needless to say I was in foul humor when I arrived at the Reading United Methodist Church. I huddled inside my coat, the chill air only getting colder, not typical for mid-December. I scowled at the front door, knowing I was supposed to be getting married tomorrow and that instead I was investigating a murder while now once again embroiled in a blame/fear/anger cycle surrounding the missing newspaperwoman I called my friend.

As I headed inside, the heavy door thudding shut behind me, I immediately spotted suspicious behavior in the whispered arguing of none other than Katelyn Isaac and Dominic Twigg. Unfortunately, the two of them were having their little hissing conversation in the foyer of the church so I missed out on the chance to eavesdrop, though from the guilty expression on the choir master's face and the dissatisfaction and frustration on the young woman's, it wasn't unfolding to either of their satisfaction.