A.W. Hartoin - A Quiet Little Place on Rue de Lille

Historical Thriller

The Paris Package (Stella Bled Book One)

Strangers in Venice (Stella Bled Book Two)

One Child in Berlin (Stella Bled Book Three)

Dark Victory (Stella Bled Book Four)

Young Adult fantasy

Flare-up (Away From Whipplethorn Short)

A Fairy's Guide To Disaster (Away From Whipplethorn Book One)

Fierce Creatures (Away From Whipplethorn Book Two)

A Monsters Paradise (Away From Whipplethorn Book Three)

A Wicked Chill (Away From Whipplethorn Book Four)

To the Eternal (Away From Whipplethorn Book Five)

Mercy Watts Mysteries

Novels

A Good Man Gone (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book One)

Diver Down (A Mercy Watts Mystery Book Two)

Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries BookThree)

Drop Dead Red (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Four)

In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Five)

The Wife of Riley (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Six)

My Bad Grandad (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Seven)

Brain Trust (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Eight)

Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Nine)

Small Time Crime (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Ten)

Bottle Blonde (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Eleven)

Mean Evergreen (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book Twelve)

Short stories

Coke with a Twist

Touch and Go

Nowhere Fast

Dry Spell

A Sin and a Shame

Paranormal

It Started with a Whisper (Sons of Witches)

A bel Herschman did not want to be there, but he couldve stayed forever. It was seductive that place in Bavaria nestled in a wide bend in a small river, far from cattle cars and camps, high black boots, and clenched fists. The birds never seemed to stop singing and the light rain kept the hills glowing green until the rain stopped and the waterline dropped.

The river had drawn him to it almost from the moment hed arrived. He wouldnt have arrived at all if hed had anything to say about it. Staying in Germany was the very last thing he wanted after his unexpected release from Dachau, but his saviors, Hildegard and Michael, didnt ask his opinion. They whisked him away into the countryside, only a couple of hours away from the camp, and hid him at Engelhof, a small brewery surrounded by vineyards and little else.

By the time he got there, the slight fever hed had for days worsened and a sweat broke out on his forehead. Hildegard pronounced him seriously ill, but Abel wasnt worried. Shivering until his jaws grew sore from the chattering was hardly a new experience and hed endured far worse in the camp. A fever was nothing compared to a black baton, but it refused to let up despite Hildegards best efforts. She went so far as to find a doctor from the neighboring village, who didnt ask too many questions, to come and see him. The doctor took one look at the spotty rash that was spreading across Abels torso and diagnosed him with typhus. He prescribed a few benign things to help, including getting rid of the fleas and lice that constantly plagued him, patted Abels shaking hand, and lied smoothly, saying that he should be just fine in a couple of days. Abel nodded and waited for him to go. The doctor did go, but only into the other room where he quietly told Hildegard and Michael that his situation was desperate. Abel was a walking skeleton with no reserves to save him. He ought to be in a hospital.

While the doctor talked, Abel rolled out of bed. He staggered toward the other door, grabbing whatever he could to support himself until he grasped the door handle. He planned to get in the truck hed seen parked on the side of the house. That he needed keys and a destination didnt occur to him. He had to get out of Germany. That broad goal was good enough for his muddled mind.

But when he got the door open, thoughts of the truck vanished. He saw the river, heard its soft rushing sounds and the birds singing. It was peaceful and perfect. He had to get there. It called to him and he answered by falling down the steps and landing in a heap in a patch of bare dirt. It didnt particularly hurt because everything hurt. He just had to get to the river and that would make it better.

What are you doing? Hildegard pounded down the steps. She was a tiny woman but sounded huge in her thick mens boots.

River, he whispered.

You are not leaving. She rolled him over and shook a finger in his face. This was ridiculous three hours ago and it is ridiculous now. Where would you go? Before you had diarrhea. Now you have typhus and God knows what else.

River.

The girls are boiling water. We shouldnt have brought you in the house with all your vermin, but you are not bathing in the river.

Abel looked up at her, his eyes swimming and blurry. Im sorry.

Sorry for what? Surviving? Her fists were on her hips and her glare grew more fierce. Abel had only known her for a short while, but hed already discovered that the little woman saw things like no one else and it was best not to apologize for the fleas and lice. She would consider it a kind of insult that it should matter.

Never mind.

A pair of worn boots arrived by his hip and Michael said, At it again? Did they beat the sense out of you?

Abel looked up to retort but saw his friends face beaming down at him, his eyes alight with humor.

The river, Abel got out between fresh fits of chattering.

Oh, right, but well have the bath ready in a few minutes. Well, a half-hour anyway. Michael squatted and took his arm. Well get you into bed

Abel pulled away. The river.

The bed is already infested. You cant make it any worse.

Hildegard touched his forehead with the back of her hand. The fever is higher. The doctor said if it got worse, he would need a cool bath.

Michael took his arm again. Easy enough. Weve got plenty of cold water.

They werent going to give up, which was lucky for Abel in many ways but not that day. He couldnt explain why he needed the peace of the river more than a bath and a cozy bed. He didnt know why himself, but he did need it, so he said, Bath in the river.

Michael glanced back at the sun-dappled bank with the swaying trees and shrugged. It will save carrying all that water and its not any colder than the well.

Hildegard pursed her thin lips, but common sense got the better of her. Girls, stop! Hell bathe in the river.

There was a flurry of words that Abel couldnt make out and then he was naked in the shallows, being talked to by Michael, who was full of plans, and washed by Hildegard, who had no sense of propriety or personal dignity whatsoever.

Abel didnt care. He felt better and not because of the lye soap or that his fever went down. The air brought him peace. The riverbank was clean and open. There were no walls, no fences. He would stay there as long as they would let him and he did. All that day he lay swaddled on the shore until Hildegard forced the men to carry him inside and then out again at daybreak to lie on a thin woolen blanket with a large umbrella for the inevitable rain.