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

  Weird how we both stood there a long moment in awkward silence, him just staring at me, while I reached for something to say, before landing on the obvious.


  "Pamela," I blurted, holding up my phone. "She's okay."


  I was expecting at least some small acknowledgment but the wave of relief that passed over his face surprised me. Dad joined me, read the email, handed back the phone with a grin.


  "Leave it to Pam," he said. And tossed the cell to the bed beside Petunia who sniffed it like it didn't matter one little bit to her.


  And, I guess, in that moment, it didn't.


  Dad sat down on one side of her, pushing my phone away, pulling me down on the other side, holding my hands in his. He was silent a long moment, cleared his throat, tried to speak. Stopped. Tried again. All the while not meeting my eyes, his face turning red, throat working.


  I finally leaned in and hugged him and he embraced me back, the familiar comfort of his arms enough to make me cry.


Chapter 449: Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue