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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 · Hiện thực
Không đủ số lượng người đọc
492 Chs

Chapter 259: List Of Suspects

Back at Petunia's, Dad and I huddled over coffee to talk out what we'd learned. Mom did her usual take care of us act while my pug lingered, looking for scraps. Dad's messy eating habits notwithstanding, I wondered how many of his cake crumbs hit the floor because he was actually clumsy or in an effort to hide the truth-he loved feeding Petunia who scrambled with her efficient and noisy snorfling to capture every last molecule.

I was distracted enough by the case to let the tiny bits of doggie contraband slide. "Is there any way the Pattersons are behind Lester's death?" I'd had my suspicions about their influence over Reading for a while now, and the fact one of their own had been dispatched without much sorrow from the family made me wonder. Yes, they'd lost another Patterson not so long ago, but it seemed more of a stink had been kicked up over the death of young Mason despite his distasteful personality than that of who had to have been his uncle.