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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 28: Highly Entertaining Afternoon

Well now, that certainly added layers to the whole thing, didn't it? Made sense in a lot of ways. I pondered the brother/sister connection while Malcolm spoke again.

"I don't like drugs, boyo," he said. "Don't like them in my establishment or near me in any way." He nodded to me. "Promised your dad years ago, Fee. A bit of sideline distilling, some gambling. No leg breaking or anything like that. Just some friendly business. But drugs." He turned back to Pitch. "You find a new line of employ, you hear? Or a fresh place to do your dirty work."

Pitch sagged and exhaled like he'd been expecting worse. "You're not going to kill me?" The last two words squeaked while my heart thudded at the implications.

Malcolm laughed. Threw his head back, fists on hips and guffawed. Before silencing his humor with an abruptness that made my skin tingle with goosebumps in the sudden silence, broken by the distant cheer of the soccer match TV crowd.

"Not in front of the lady," he said. "Now scoot."