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 ground my teeth together as Crew's voice crackled on the other end of the walkie, his distant shape just visible on the other side of the river. Past the freaking mess that had been made of the hateful bridge that was our only connection to the rest of the world.


  At least, that's how it felt as I listened to him explain what happened to take out the center span of said ridiculous bridge.


  "They overestimated how much force they needed to blow the beaver dam." Crew sounded pissed, but only because I knew him. The flashing light of his sheriff's truck reflected red, a beacon I wished I could reach but could only focus on in the distance. "You said a boom woke you? Over."


  At least there wasn't the loss of communication from the walkie talkie I used to fill him in on my side of the story, unlike the CB. "I think so," I said. "Then a second. Was that the second explosion? Over."


Chapter 287: Cut Off