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CHAPTER ONE - Page 1
Omens Of Tragedy
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On the evening of April 7, 1999, in the heart of the Canadian
Rockies, my wife and I parked our car in front of the massive Banff
Springs Hotel and entered the lobby. The bellman was away, probably parking
another guest's vehicle, so we dropped our car keys in the lock box as a sign
instructed and began wending our way towards our room. The hotel was built
in 1888 and even the most recent renovations featured
almost-flawless recreations of Victorian design, art and decor. We strolled
along hand in hand, stopping every few yards to admire a fresco, enjoy a
painting or gaze out a window at the surrounding mountains. A casual observer
might have taken us for honeymooners who didn't have a care in the world.
In truth, I was finding it difficult to relax. All day long, something had been bothering me. Dawn and I had rolled out of bed around
five thirty --
even before the youngest of our five children. We'd showered
and eaten a
light breakfast. By the time the caregiver arrived at six, we
were ready to
make the ninety-minute drive to Banff, the mountain resort in
which I'd
arranged to attend a one-day workshop. After that, we planned
to enjoy an
extended two day vacation at the Springs, taking advantage of
room service,
the movie channel and their alluring Spa Package.
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Our family photo: October '98
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