Aunt Dimity and the Summer King by Nancy Atherton (English) Paperback Book

Description: Aunt Dimity and the Summer King by Nancy Atherton Overseeing her baby, a family wedding and her own approaching 40th birthday celebration amid rumors that a developer has unwanted plans for Finch village, Lori bonds with a warmhearted inventor only to discover his true intentions. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Cozy mystery lovers favorite paranormal sleuth is back with her twentieth otherworldly adventure in the New York Times–bestselling series. Watch out for Nancy Athertons latest, Aunt Dimity and the Kings Ransom, coming in July 2018 from Viking! Its June, the roses are in bloom, and the small English village of Finch may be in big trouble. Two cottages are for sale, but something—or someone—is driving buyers away. Has a developer targeted Finch? Will property values skyrocket? Will a wave of wealthy weekenders drive out the longtime locals? Lori Shepherd has a lot on her plate—a brand-new baby daughter, her father-in-laws impending nuptials, and a visit from her dreaded aunts-in-law—but she refuses to stand back and watch while big money destroys her beloved village. Lori sets her sights on the local real estate agent, but finds herself sidetracked by a chance encounter with an eccentric inventor. Arthur Hargreaves, dubbed the Summer King by his quirky family, is as warmhearted as the summer sun. With him, Lori forgets her troubles, until she makes a series of unsettling discoveries. An ancient feud between his family and the town comes to light. And then theres Arthurs connection to the local real estate firm. Is the Summer King as kind as he seems? With Aunt Dimitys otherworldly help—and her new baby girl in her arms—Lori fights to save her village from the Summer Kings scorching greed. Author Biography Nancy Atherton is the New York Times–bestselling author of twenty-two Aunt Dimity mysteries. The first book in the series, Aunt Dimitys Death, was voted One of the Centurys 100 Favorite Mysteries by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association. She lives in Colorado Springs. Review "Another hit in the long line of Aunt Dimity books"—Suspense Magazine"Aunt Dimity & The Summer King illuminates the layered writing room of Nancy Athertons mind…the best of Nancy Atherton on full display." —Electric ReviewPraise for AUNT DIMITY AND THE VILLAGE WITCH "Atherton is a superb writer who brings a lot of charm and wit to her story." —Suspense Magazine Praise for AUNT DIMITY AND THE FAMILY TREE "Cozy and charming as a cup of Earl Grey, Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree is a novel to be savored." —Bookpage.com Praise for AUNT DIMITY DOWN UNDER "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 Praise for AUNT DIMITY SLAYS THE DRAGON "Let Nancy Atherton and Aunt Dimity remind you of the reason you got hooked on books in the first place. I promise you will be scouring bookstores for more of the series after you give it a taste." —CrimeCritics.com Review Quote Praise for AUNT DIMITY AND THE SUMMER KING "Another hit in the long line of Aunt Dimity books" --Suspense Magazine "Aunt Dimity & The Summer King illuminates the layered writing room of Nancy Athertons mind...the best of Nancy Atherton on full display." Excerpt from Book One Every back road is somebodys main road. No matter how rough or remote it might be, a road always leads somewhere, and for someone, that somewhere is home. I lived on a back road, a narrow, twisting lane bordered by hedgerows, lush pastures, and shadowy woodlands. My home was a honey-colored cottage in the Cotswolds, a region of rolling hills and patchwork fields in Englands West Midlands, and my little lane was used chiefly by my family, my friends, and my neighbors. Bewildered strangers occasionally knocked on my door to ask for directions, but they left as quickly as they came. They had no reason to linger--no castle, no cathedral, no Bronze Age barrow or seaside promenade to pique their interest. There was nothing special about my corner of the Cotswolds, apart from its tranquil beauty and the unchanging, ever-changing cycle of country life. My husband, Bill, and I were Americans, as were our nine-year-old twins, Will and Rob, but wed lived in England long enough to be accepted as honorary natives by our neighbors. Our cottage was situated near the small village of Finch, a place so tiny and of so little consequence to the world at large that most mapmakers forgot to include it on their maps. Finch was, of course, of tremendous consequence to those of us who lived there. It was the center of our universe, the hub around which we revolved. We might not be able to name the newest celebrity, but we knew everything worth knowing about one another. We knew whose dog had acquired fleas, whose roof had sprung a leak, and whose chrysanthemums had been fatally stricken with root rot mere moments after such catastrophes took place. We knew who could be relied upon to make six dozen flawless strawberry tarts for the flower shows bake sale and who couldnt be trusted to bake a single macaroon without setting the oven ablaze. We knew whose children and grandchildren were delightful and whose were to be avoided like the plague, and we shared our knowledge with a diligence that put the Internet to shame. Local gossip was the stuff of life in Finch, a sport, an art form, a currency that never lost its value. We didnt need celebrities to entertain us. We found ourselves endlessly fascinating. Finch wouldnt suit everyone--those desiring privacy, for example, would find the lack of it hard to bear--but it suited Bill and me down to the ground. Bill ran the European branch of his familys venerable Boston law firm from an office overlooking the village green; Will and Rob attended Morningside School in the nearby market town of Upper Deeping; and I juggled a multitude of roles--wife, mother, friend, neighbor, community volunteer, gossip gatherer, and devoted daughter-in-law. Bills father, William Willis, Sr., lived up the lane from us, in Fairworth House, a splendidly restored Georgian mansion surrounded by an impeccably maintained estate. Willis, Sr., had spent most of his adult life in Boston as the head of the family firm, but hed moved to England upon his retirement in order to be near his grandchildren. My father-in-law was an old-fashioned, courtly gentleman, a handsome widower, and a doting grandfather. I adored him, as did nearly every widow and spinster in Finch. Many a heart had been broken when Willis, Sr., had bestowed his upon the celebrated watercolorist Amelia Thistle. Amelia had taken nearly two years to return the favor, but Willis, Sr.s patient pursuit of her had eventually paid off. He had proposed, she had accepted, and the date of the wedding had been set. Bill was delighted by the match. He looked forward to being his fathers best man as eagerly as I looked forward to being Amelias matron of honor. Will and Rob were somewhat less enthusiastic about fulfilling their forthcoming roles as Grandpas ring-bearers, but Amelia had bought their cooperation by promising to hide a handful of their favorite cookies in her bouquet. For a woman whod never had children of her own, Amelia possessed a rare gift for dealing with nine-year-olds. Although Willis, Sr., was no longer the head of the family firm,he was still regarded as the head of the family and attendance at his nuptials was considered compulsory. Flocks of aunts, uncles, and cousins would soon be descending on Finch to pay homage to the paterfamilias, an event that did not fill Bill with unalloyed joy. While he got along well with most of his relatives, he actively disliked two of his aunts. He referred to them as the Harpies, but only when Will, Rob, and his father were out of earshot. Though Aunt Honoria and Aunt Charlotte had been widowed for many years, they had, in their youth, married men from their own social milieu. They believed that Bill had let his old-money Boston Brahmin family down when hed married a middle-class girl from Chicago. Had they been openly hostile to me, Willis, Sr., would have come down on them like a ton of bricks, so they disguised their disdain with artful expressions of "concern" for me, the unfortunate outsider. They criticized my posture, my table manners, my dress sense, and my speech, but they did so solicitously, as if they were bringing enlightenment to a savage whod been raised on a desert island by a troop of baboons. Willis, Sr., who could usually spot a hidden agenda from a mile off, was blind to his sisters shenanigans. He saw Charlotte and Honoria through rose-colored glasses, but they made my easygoing husband see red. Bills aunts had never darkened our doorway in England--they rarely left Boston--and he was not looking forward to their first visit. He made his misgivings known to me as we strolled along our little lane one day, three weeks before the wedding. It was a glorious Saturday morning in early June. After dropping the boys off at the local stables for their weekly riding lessons, Bill had decided to clear up some neglected paperwork that awaited him at his office in Finch. He didnt usually walk to the village and I didnt usually accompany him, but the weather was superb and wed both felt like stretching our legs. My mind was on other things when Bill spoke, so his words seemed to come out of nowhere, like a bolt from the blue. "If the Harpies are rude to you," he declared, "Ill strangle them." "I should hope so," I said lightly, but one glance at my husbands thunderous expression told me that he was not in the mood for levity. "What brought your aunts to mind?" "A phone call from Father," he replied. "Honoria and Charlotte will be arriving at Fairworth House on Monday." "Monday?" I said, my heart sinking. "Why so soon?" "They say theyre coming early to help Amelia with the wedding, but you and I know theyll do nothing but nitpick and nag." Bill laughed bitterly. "I wouldnt put it past them to spend the next three weeks trying to talk Father out of marrying Amelia." "Fat chance," I said scornfully. "An artist in the family," said Bill, mimicking Honorias penetrating nasal drawl. "What on earth were you thinking , William? We could understand it if she dabbled . Everyone dabbles . But she sells her paintings. For money . My dear, it simply isnt done !" "They wouldnt be stupid enough to talk like that in front of your father, would they?" I asked incredulously. "I almost wish they would," said Bill. "Itd be a treat to watch Father kick them out of Fairworth." "If they spout off about Amelia, he will," I said. "And they wont be able to stay with us because we dont have a guest room anymore." "Yet another reason to be thankful for my beautiful wife," Bill acknowledged, "and my beautiful, beautiful daughter." My husbands entire aspect changed as he gazed down at the precious passenger I was pushing along in the pram. His shoulders relaxed, his fists unclenched, and his thunderous expression gave way to one of pure adoration. Bill was in love as he had never been in love before and I felt not the slightest twinge of jealousy because I, too, was besotted. Dont get me wrong. We loved our sons ferociously, but our baby girl had come to us long after wed abandoned hope of having another child. Her late arrival had secured a special place in our hearts for her. Because of her, Bill had done the unthinkable: Hed cut back on his workload in order to spend less time at the beck and call of his demanding clients and more time at home with his family. It was a choice the Harpies would never understand, but I did, and I approved of it with all my heart. Our daughter had been christened Elizabeth Dimity, after my late mother and a dear friend, but Will and Rob had dubbed her Bess. I suspected theyd done so for the pleasure of calling her Bessy Boots, Messy Bessy, and a host of other big-brotherly nicknames, but Bess she had been from that day forward. Bess had entered the world on a stormy, snowy night in late February--a scant fifteen weeks ago--but we felt as if wed known her forever. She had her fathers velvety brown eyes, my rosy complexion, and a wispy crop of silky, softly curling dark-brown hair. "She is beautiful, isnt she?" I crooned. "Shes incomparably beautiful," Bill agreed, "and highly intelligent." "And even-tempered," I added. "And healthy and strong and good-humored," Bill continued. "And kind and patient and wise," I went on. "Our Bess," Bill concluded, "is as perfectly perfect as perfect can be." We looked at each other and laughed. We wouldnt allow ourselves to become baby-bores in public, but we were free to sing Besss praises in private, secure in the knowledge that every word we said was true. "Shes also considerate," I pointed out. "If we hadnt turned our guest ro Details ISBN0143108107 Author Nancy Atherton Short Title AUNT DIMITY & THE SUMMER KING Pages 240 Language English ISBN-10 0143108107 ISBN-13 9780143108108 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Residence IL, US Series Aunt Dimity Mystery Year 2016 Publication Date 2016-04-26 Place of Publication New York, NY Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2016-04-26 NZ Release Date 2016-04-26 US Release Date 2016-04-26 UK Release Date 2016-04-26 Publisher Penguin Putnam Inc Imprint Penguin USA Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:137825535;

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