Nancy Atherton's twenty-second cozy mystery in the beloved, nationally bestselling Aunt Dimity series. It's early April in the small English village of Finch. Lori Shepherd's husband and sons are spending Easter break camping, and Lori is perfectly happy to be left at home with Bess, spared a week of roughing it with a curious toddler. The two attend a village events committee meeting and Lori is astonished when the elderly, soft-spoken widow Mrs. Annabelle Craven stands to make an announcement: she's decided to hold a quilting bee in the old schoolhouse. At the quilting bee, Lori ends up seated beside Mrs. Craven, delighted at the opportunity to learn more about her neighbor's life in the village of Old Cowerton. But dear, sweet Mrs. Craven's stories reveal a startling secret about her first husband's death. With Aunt Dimity's advice, Lori sets out to learn the truth about what the residents of Old Cowerton refer to as the "widow's curse"--and the deeper she digs, the more horrifying the tale becomes, until she discovers the most astounding revelation of all. Watch out for Atherton's latest, Aunt Dimity and the King's Ransom , coming out in July 2018! “Perhaps the most heartwarming entry in this long-running series...one that presents a very different path to solving the case.” — Kirkus Reviews   PRAISE FOR THE AUNT DIMITY SERIES:   “ Aunt Dimity and the Summer King illuminates the layered writing room of Nancy Atherton's mind. . . . The best of Nancy Atherton on full display.”— Electric Review “Atherton is a superb writer who brings a lot of charm and wit to her story.” — Suspense Magazine (on Aunt Dimity and the Village Witch )   “In the realm of the cozy mystery, there are few series that can hold a candle to Atherton’s Aunt Dimity series.” —Everydayebook.com "Cozy and charming as a cup of Earl Grey, Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree is a novel to be savored.”— Bookpage.com “Always a charming read, the Aunt Dimity series is just right for when life gets too hectic and you need to slow down a bit.”— Deadly Pleasures Magazine (on Aunt Dimity Down Under )   “Atherton smoothly blends history, village life, and the otherworldly.” — Publishers Weekly (on Aunt Dimity and the Buried Treasure ) Nancy Atherton is the bestselling author of twenty-two Aunt Dimity Mysteries. The first book in the series, Aunt Dimity's Death , was voted "One of the Century's 100 Favorite Mysteries" by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association. She lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. One Annabelle Craven was an ideal neighbor. Quiet, tidy, and unfailingly polite, she was the sort of neighbor who could be relied upon to lend a frantic baker a cup of sugar or to water a window box while its owner was away on holiday. No one knew Mrs. Craven's exact age. She never mentioned it, and it would have been impertinent to inquire, but anyone with eyes could see that she was elderly. Her tweed skirts and blazers hung loosely on her shrunken frame, her soft gray eyes peered out from a face webbed with wrinkles, and she wore her long white hair in a wispy bun on the back of her head. Her tweed skirts and blazers were elderly, too, as were her sensible shoes, but her clothes were well made and well kept and would in all likelihood outlast her. Mrs. Craven was in remarkably good health for a woman of her advanced years. Her eyesight was undimmed, her hearing was excellent, and her nimble fingers could undo knots that defeated much younger women. She moved slowly but surely, without the aid of a cane or a walker, and everyone who knew her agreed that her mind was as agile as her fingers. She could hold her own in any conversation and she wasn't the least bit forgetful. If Mrs. Craven made an appointment, she kept it. Mrs. Craven lived in Finch, a small and somnolent village set among the rolling hills and the patchwork fields of the Cotswolds, a pastoral haven described in countless guidebooks as one of the prettiest regions in England. I agreed with the guidebooks. My family and I lived near Finch, in a honey-colored cottage on a narrow winding lane lined with tall hedgerows. Although my husband, Bill, and I were Americans, as were our twin sons and our daughter, we'd lived in England long enough to develop a minor addiction to scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam. We kept our addiction in check by leading full and busy lives. Bill ran the European branch of his family's venerable Boston law firm from an office overlooking the village green; our ten-year-old sons, Will and Rob, attended Morningside School in the nearby market town of Upper Deeping; and I juggled the challenging roles of wife, mother, friend, neighbor, community volunteer, and chief baby wrangler. Our daughter, Bess, was thirteen months old and terrifyingly mobile. She kept me on my toes by toddling eagerly toward anything that might kill her. Her death wish list included, but was by no means limited to, stairs, sto