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

   Willow sipped her tea, one long, thin leg folded elegantly over the other, her skinny jeans ripped at the knee. She'd made no effort to hide her split lip or the bruise forming from Carter's knockout punch, instead letting the truth show like she wore it proudly. She set her cup in her saucer and exhaled the scent of chamomile, the breeze carrying it to me while I stared into my coffee and just enjoyed her company.


   Hard to believe we'd fought for our lives just last night. That it was time to say goodbye, that this woman I'd come to adore and admire was leaving Reading and I'd likely not see her again for a long time. If ever. Because we hardly traveled in the same circles. But I was glad to see the smile she shared, most of the weariness gone from her face.


   "Thank you, Fee," she said, patting my hand with fingers warmed by her tea. "This means a lot to me. Just sitting. I don't get to be quiet much."


Chapter 119: Friends In Hollywood Places