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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 · 現実
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492 Chs

Chapter 75: Wrapping Up

As I focused on my goal, I caught movement from the dining room doors and glanced that way in time to see Dad and Malcolm Murray emerging from the quiet of the hall. For a moment they paused, Malcolm's hand on Dad's arm and my father actually waiting, head down, listening as The Orange's Irish owner whispered something to him. Dad shook his head and walked away at last, leaving Malcolm to stare after him with a sad look on his face. I swerved without thinking, crossing to join him and when he spotted me that sorrow turned to a flash of a smile in a heartbeat.

"A busy night, Fiona," he said. "And I hear you're to thank for catching the killer."

I shrugged at that, not caring about his praise at the moment. "What were you and Dad talking about just now?" Maybe it was being overtired or just tired of secrets but I know I was a bit abrupt. Okay, more than a bit. Malcolm didn't seem to mind, though his sorrow returned around the edges of the smile that didn't fade while he spoke.