Page 119 of Sunset Beach
The clerk, dressed in the official Gulf Vista Royal Bahamian uniform, looked up as she approached.
“How can I help?” He looked to be around twenty, with a sunburn and a peeling nose.
She patted the pockets of her cover-up. “You’re not gonna believe this. I think I misplaced my key.”
“No problem,” he said gallantly. “What’s the name and room number?”
“Gazaway, Room 325.”
He turned to his computer monitor, tapped some keys and nodded. “Okay, Ms. Gazaway. Now, do you have some ID?”
She laughed. “That’s the problem. I’ve been down at the tiki bar, and I didn’t take my billfold with me, because we were charging our drinks to the room.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, nodding. “I just need the address listed on the credit card on your account.”
“Oh.” She made a pouting face. “The thing is, my cousin booked the room. And I don’t actually know her new address, since she got married.”
Drue was shocked how easily the lies rolled off her lips.
But the desk clerk was not impressed. “Can you call her?” he asked. “If she comes down to the desk, I can easily get another key made for you.”
“Ugh!” Drue exclaimed. “She wandered away with her husband, and she left her phone in the room. Can’t you just make me another key without all that rigamarole?”
“Can’t,” he said, shrugging. “Against hotel policy. Wish I could help.”
Drue tried to look helpless. It wasn’t working. “Okay,” she said, sighing deeply. “Do you have a map of the property?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
Since helpless wasn’t working she held out her hand and tried haughty. “May I have one, please?”
She could sense the clerk watching as she strolled out of the lobby in the direction of the pool. Once outside, she studied the map, trying to get her bearings again.
According to what Hernandez told her, the last room Jazmin cleaned on the night she was murdered was Room 133. Which probably meant the room was on the first floor of the north building.
She followed the stone-paved walkway through the lush junglelike landscaping, flinching once when a tiny green tree frog dropped off an overhanging basket, brushing her arm. The east end of the north building loomed ahead of her. Consulting the map, she was surprised to note that there was a second pool on the property, and that the back of the north building faced it. There was a door here into what looked like the building’s elevator tower, but it too was locked. She kept following the path until she could see the shimmering reflection of the pool water bouncing on the back of the building. The sidewalk ended abruptly at a gate in a six-foot-high wooden stockade fence.
Drue held her breath as she hip-checked the gate, which swung open easily. Finally!
A smallish, kidney-shaped pool lay before her. The landscaping here was not nearly as lush or well-maintained as the rest of the property, and indeed, the whole area had the feeling of steerage class on a luxury liner. She gazed up at the building and realized that the architectural style here was also markedly different from the rest of the resort facility. It was a boxy concrete block tower, four floors, with each room outfitted with an abbreviated wrought-iron balcony just large enough for a pair of inexpensive plastic armchairs. This, she thought, was probably the earliest phase of the resort, featuring the most inexpensive rooms, without a beach view.
Lights shone in only a handful of the rooms looking out on the pool. To her disappointment, the first level of balconies was actually elevated about six feet above the pool decking. She stood under the shadow of the balconies and gazed upward, wondering if the theory she’d formed after watching hours of security camera video would hold water.
Would it be possible for someone to access a balcony, and from there, a room, from here? She looked wildly around the deck, searching for something to use as a ladder. Most of the pool furniture looked too flimsy to support her weight.
The most substantial item she spotted was a concrete-encased trash barrel that stood beside an ice maker and a Coke machine. Drue leaned against the barrel and sighed. No way could she move this thing by herself. She was shocked, though, when the barrel seemed to roll out from under her.
She ducked down and saw that the barrel was actually mounted on rollers. Hallelujah!
Drue walked to the far side of the pool area and counted sets of sliding- glass doors. If the rooms on this side of the building were odd-numbered, she calculated that 133 could be the third room from the far end. The room was dark. With any luck, it was also vacant tonight.
Her knee was throbbing badly, but she pushed the trash barrel toward the far end of the building, stopping once or twice to check her progress. Finally, when she had the barrel in position, she ducked down again, and using the flashlight on her cell phone, checked to see if the casters were equipped with some kind of brakes.
Nope. But she spotted a forgotten beach towel slung over the back of a chaise lounge near the pool. She fetched the towel and wrapped it around the casters to immobilize them, then dragged a chair over to the trash barrel. She kicked off her flip flops. Gritting her teeth, she climbed from the seat of the chair onto the top of the barrel placing her feet on opposite sides of the barrel edges, praying the whole thing wouldn’t topple over beneath her weight.
She held her breath, and slowly stood, her calves and thigh muscles screaming in tandem at the unexpected workout.
Drue found herself at eye level with the top of the wrought-iron balcony railing. She swallowed hard and hooked her left leg over the railing, with her right leg in midair. Suddenly a beam of light flashed in her eyes and a man’s voice sliced through the darkness.
