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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 · Realistis
Peringkat tidak cukup
492 Chs

Chapter 428: First Attempt

Self-preservation is a funny thing, isn't it? I don't even remember moving, telling my brain to fire, my muscles to work, my body to act. In fact, if I'm going to be totally honest, I should have been dead about two seconds after the headlights hit my gaze. Because if I had been in total control of me without instincts or a fight or flight guidance system? I'd have been a hood ornament on the front of that big, terrifying car hurtling toward me.

Instead, I came to from a sort of muddy haze, shaking snow out of my hair from the bank I'd thrown myself into, hands frozen where they braced me deep in the icy stuff, heart pounding, body shaking while the car peeled away out of sight.

Gone too fast for me to catch the license plate, even if I'd had the wherewithal to notice such a detail. I panted my terror out into the freezing air, giant puffs of white exiting my lips, sitting in the snow and trembling as I pulled myself together yet again.