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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 · Realista
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492 Chs

Chapter 390: Smarmy Little Weasel

Geoffrey was just driving off in his ridiculous car, his two security boys lurking at the entrance, when I rejoined Jill. She didn't say anything about the long and clearly arduous conversation she'd endured, but from the curt way she waved off my evidence she was struggling to maintain her composure.

"Just take it to the doc," she grumbled before marching off. To where? Only Jill knew.

Got it. Doing my job and staying out of her way.

I took a moment to reinforce Liz's power move and waved cheerily at the black-clad mercenary on my left when I walked out, the best I could do and about one step back from flashing him a very rude gesture that involved my middle finger. Would likely have undermined what the FBI agent had done for me. Besides, it was much more satisfying to be happy in the face of his scowling than angry, and generated the furious flash of frustration I was hoping for.

Nice to know someone else was suffering along with me.