Johanne Caron slumped into a window seat, her straight, auburn hair dangling over her eyes, which narrowed when she smiled, giving a dangerous edge to her scrubbed, freckled face. Deeply set, her eyes were protected by high cheekbones. Her gaze furtive, she looked away from other passengers as she left the Northwest airplane in Montreal.
It was Christmas Eve 1991. Caron had made it home in time for the holiday, but barely. Her Montreal-born husband, who shied away from family gatherings, skipped the trip. Outside, snow fell heavily. Caron’s father, who met his daughter at the airport, gathered her bags. He was eager to join the family party in the city. Caron awaited the arrival of her skis at the baggage area. The skis still ...