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

  No time to judge. Heather wasn't done. Despite my visceral reaction, the gut-punch of understanding Heather just might be a murderer after all, she sobbed softly before going on.


  "I swear it was an accident," she said, "but I might as well have killed that girl like the courts said I did." She struggled to swallow, her face red, neck and chest mottled from the overabundance of her emotional turmoil. "My friend and I were drinking, like we did a lot when we were teens. We were jumping off a bridge, you know? Just a stupid thing to do, especially considering how drunk we were." She shrugged, sniffled, wiped at her nose. "Fourteen is a stupid age sometimes."


  I thought back to my teens and winced. I hadn't drank, per se, if only because my father was sheriff and my mother the principal, but I knew lots of people who had and I'd gotten into trouble a time or two over lack of forethought and sheer idiocy, so I got it.


Chapter 261: Guilty Conscience