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

  Morning broke, my alarm blaring at me at the usual 6AM wakeup, though I wasn't exactly in the mood to rise and shine. Considering I'd spent the majority of the night tossing and turning and arguing with multiple people who only existed in my head-hello, straight jacket, padded room and three shots a day-it was a wonder I wasn't a walking zombie by the time I emerged, grumpy and blinking into the bright Sunday summer morning, into the foyer of Petunia's. My pug was equally quiet, though her reserved behavior shifted the moment we entered the kitchen and found Mom stirring something that smelled delicious enough to break me out of my funk. The pug waddled and wiggled her way to Mom's feet where my darling mother and partner promptly handed over a small plate with a serving of fruit and freshly cooked hamburger for the hungry pug.


  "Spoiled," I muttered, helping myself to coffee.


Chapter 242: Bad Luck