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

  My reflection told me I'd lost weight, just like the bridal magazines ordered, only I doubted they'd recommend my particular method of loss as something conducive to mental health or a long, happy marriage.


  Good thing I wasn't your typical bride then, huh?


  I'd felt pretty guilty over losing, not just my dress to Rosebert's attentions, but Mom's as well, the gown burned up with my bed and breakfast.


  "The last of my worries, sweetie," she'd said as I'd tried to apologize yesterday morning, the sun rising on the still smoking ruin of Petunia's. I could see the thin black cloud in the distance from her kitchen windows and couldn't help but stare at it in sick fascination while Mom did her best to distract me.


  When Daisy appeared with a garment bag and a giant smile on her face, Vivian French in tow, I had forced myself into a happier state and found it turn to real pleasure at the sight of the gorgeous dress they showed me.


Chapter 448: Wedding Day