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

  Oh, and not just the foyer, with all my paperwork scattered around the floor, the carpet pulled up and bunched into a corner, the sitting room furniture tipped over, some of the upholstery torn away and a lamp on its side, the old ceramic shattered. No, as I moved into the disaster of my front entry, I caught a glimpse into the dining room, of the wedding decorations shredded, the side table tipped over, the red strip I was to use as my walk down the aisle torn and discarded like trash.


  No one said a word as we toured the house together, the kitchen the only place that garnered a response, from Mom, her cooking tools spread out over the floor, the fridge door left wide open, food spilling out onto the tile, her aprons ground underfoot with old coffee grinds, from the looks of things, dug out of the garbage worked into the fabric by clearly defined shoe imprints.


  Mom gurgled. That was all. It was enough.


Chapter 429: Vindictiveness