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The Widow's Mite by Allie Cresswell - Book Tour

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The Widow’s Mite

Minnie Price married late in life. Now she is widowed. And starving.
No one suspects this respectable church-goer can barely keep body and soul together. Why would they, while she resides in the magnificent home she shared with Peter?
Her friends and neighbours are oblivious to her plight and her adult step-children have their own reasons to make things worse rather than better. But she is thrown a lifeline when an associate of her late husband arrives with news of an investment about which her step-children know nothing.
Can she release the funds before she finds herself homeless and destitute?

Fans of 'The Hoarder's Widow' will enjoy this sequel, but it reads equally well as a standalone.

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The Widow’s Mite is the second book in the Widows series in which I explore the stories of a group of widowed ladies who have formed a friendship group.
Necessarily, the books describe the relationship which existed between the widow and her late husband, his demise and her ensuing grief. All these things are inter-dependent. In The Hoarder’s Widow, the first book in the series, Maisie had loved her husband but his obsession with collecting things had made her life almost intolerable. Although she mourned him there was, in her inner, secret heart, a guilty nugget of relief.
Minnie’s situation is quite different. She had met Peter late in life and their marriage had been all-too brief.  It is clear that she is not going to cope well on her own.
Peter had died suddenly, unexpectedly. Her mind, like a small vessel cast adrift, pitched and rolled on a vast sea of grief but found itself particularly swamped by those two waves of circumstance; the suddenness and the unexpectedness of it. It had been Saturday – their favourite day of the week – characterised by a lie-in, a cup of tea in bed and a bacon breakfast before a pleasant sequence of jobs to be done in companionable co-operation. On Saturday evenings, to round off the pleasure of the day, they sometimes drove out to a country inn for a steak dinner. This – or something like it – had been the prospect before them on that day. One moment Peter had been perfectly well, opening up the garden shed to get at the ride-on lawn mower, speaking of a trip to the garden centre later in the day to buy mulch. Then, in seconds, he had been dead, sprawled on the block paving. The shock of it had been appalling; so violent that Minnie had thought for a few moments her own heart would stop. She had been hysterical, screeching at the 999 operator and at Peter, incoherent with panic. She had been distraught, angry, disbelieving as the paramedics had worked in vain to revive him and afterwards, when they had lifted him onto their stretcher and covered him with a sheet, and told her there was no point in her accompanying them to the hospital. No point at all.
It had felt like an enormous hoax; as though the paramedics had in fact kidnapped Peter and she would soon hear from them requiring payment of a ransom to secure his release. It still felt that way, only now the undertaker and the vicar and all those people at the funeral were complicit in insisting Peter was dead, properly dead, and not shackled in a dark and smelly lock-up somewhere wondering why she had not redeemed him. She had been left to stew. No one had come near her for days. Were they trying to wear down her resistance? What resistance? She would have paid any amount of money to anyone at all if it would only have brought her husband back, but what was she to do when no one had told her the amount or where it should be delivered?
This was a fantasy, of course, a vain thread of hope which, although a terrible prospect, was less terrible than the truth. Six years. That was all the time she had been allowed with him. It seemed so unfair; a too-brief enchantment. He had brought her from the shadows of anonymity and loneliness into the light and now she must go back.
She knew, in a far pocket of conviction which was, however, too weak and careless to galvanise her into any kind of action, she ought to get showered and dressed, make a shopping list and go out. She must move on, which, for Minnie, meant nothing so much as going back.

Author Bio –
Allie Cresswell was born in Stockport, UK and began writing fiction as soon as she could hold a pencil.
She did a BA in English Literature at Birmingham University and an MA at Queen Mary College, London.
She has been a print-buyer, a pub landlady, a book-keeper, run a B & B and a group of boutique holiday cottages. Nowadays Allie writes full time having retired from teaching literature to lifelong learners.
She has two grown-up children, two granddaughters, two grandsons and two cockapoos but just one husband – Tim. They live in Cumbria, NW England.
The Widow’s Mite is her tenth novel.
You can contact her via her website at\

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