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!

Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries

I glared up at Dad who hurried forward, suddenly soft and kind, something I'd never seen from him. He hugged her gently, giant form towering over her, and she clung to him like he was her lifeline.


What the actual hell and who was this man? Because he was not my father.


"Alicia's been working with me for months," Dad said over her sniffling. "Since Pete hired her to be his assistant."


"Did you tell Dad about the drugs?" I glared at Alicia, accusing her while not really knowing for sure if she was connected.


Dad flinched, looked down at her with a frown. "Drugs?"


Alicia sobbed again, sinking onto the bench, face in her hands. "It wasn't me," she wailed. "It was Pitch."


My father looked like she'd gut punched him. "Alicia. If you've done anything to jeopardize the case-"


"Dad." I hit him with that word. Caught his attention. "There is no case. Pete Wilkins is dead."


Alicia gulped while Dad tried to find words to refute me.


Chapter 32: Confidential Informant