by donalee Moulton

February brought with it a dozen red roses from my husband, some of which are wide open and aromatic even today. I split the dozen flowers into two vases. Beside each vase sits Cardinal. A book, not a bird.

Cardinal took flight, in paper and digital formats, in February. The book is part of the Paranormal Canadiana Collection from BWL Publishing. There is a paranormal mystery for each province and territory in Canada. When my publisher approached me about writing the story for Nova Scotia, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. Then I turned to my friend Lynn, and said, “What does paranormal mean?”

I envisioned aliens, not my most-favorite image. I learned, however, the term refers broadly to anything unusual or unnatural that we can’t scientifically explain. That meant aliens could take a back seat to ghosts. So, I went ghost hunting.

Like most places, Nova Scotia is full of lure and lore about those who have failed to cross over or who have made a return appearance. One of the former is Catherine McIntosh, a little girl who died in rural Nova Scotia before the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth and one month before her ninth birthday.

There does not appear to be anything sinister or suspicious about Catherine’s death. It’s what happened after that has made the little girl part of the fabric of the otherworldly in my province. Catherine decided to stay.

Today people travel the backroads of Pictou County and wind their way along a narrow dirt road to visit her grave and bring her gifts. She likes it when you bring her presents, and this may earn you a giggle or a muddy handprint on your car. Don’t take one away though. Catherine is usually friendly and warm, but she is still a little girl.

Now she is the cornerstone of Cardinal. In these pages, private detective Em Montgomery is hunting for a missing woman. She expects dead ends. She does not expect a dead girl who refuses to stay buried. Em finds herself knee-deep in fog, small-town secrets, and the uneasy sense she’s being watched by more than wildlife.

Oh yes, there is also blueberry grunt. You know why they call it grunt, right?