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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 447: Freedom From Bondage

My father taught me a long time ago not to be a quitter. Mom, too. Between the pair of them? I'd had a formidable (if couched in loving attention for the most part disguising the lessons) education in taking care of myself.

But it had been that most amazing of women, Jill Wagner, who'd taught me not so long ago the very important and, as it turned out in the next few seconds, vital skill of breaking free of various types of bonds and escaping.

"Thing is," she'd said as she'd wrapped the stuff around my wrists, "it's not as hard as you think to break out. And, I figure, considering how many times you've been in a bad position the last few years..."

"Knowing how to free myself from bondage is a good thing." I'd laughed at the terminology I'd used at the time, if only because I'd been thinking, not about life and death situations, but the man I was in love with and the word bondage made me giggle like a wicked little girl.