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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
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492 Chs

Chapter 436: Dad Can't Find Out

Katelyn didn't want to let us in the front door, but a flash of two badges and Jill's booted foot across the threshold was enough to convince her we meant business.

The moment we entered the kitchen, she was on the defensive, her entire body tense, those crossed arms and that bulging chest as a result in clear evidence of her lack of enthusiasm for this confrontation.

"We need to ask you a few questions, Katelyn," I said. "First, about what happened in Montpellier at Thea's last church." She flinched instantly. "Do you know anything about why she was fired?"

The young woman's face crumpled, her lips, dark and perfectly lined with shiny lipstick, pouting a moment before she tossed her artfully curled hair over the shoulder of her low-cut t-shirt. Was I judging? Yes, I was judging, shame on me. She was allowed to wear whatever she wanted, use as much makeup as she wanted. I wasn't her mother and, honestly, even her mom had no right to tell her what to do.