She stood up slowly, panting from the effort, and brushed the sand from her butt. She gingerly put her right foot down. There was soreness, yes, but nothing like what she’d experienced with her original injury. There was also a jagged rip along the hem of her top, but there was no blood and she could walk, which she did, as quickly as possible, toward the pool and tiki bar area, congratulating herself on her first solo breaking-and-entering effort.

She heard the high-pitched cacophony of women’s laughter as she approached the tiki bar. Sure enough, at least two dozen young women, all dressed in matching pink T-shirts and tiaras, were clustered around the periphery of the bar, drunkenly twerking and bellowing along to the version of “Bootylicious” blaring from a cell phone speaker balanced on a nearby chaise lounge.

Drue edged as close as she could get to the bar, finally managing to edge in between two middle-aged men who were watching the revelry with undisguised appreciation. There had been a time, Drue reflected, when one or both of those men would have struck up a conversation and offered to buy her a drink, but tonight, she was just another face in a crowd of younger talent. It took another ten minutes for the bartender, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, to work down the bar to her.

“Do you happen to have any bar munchies?” she asked him. He turned, wordlessly, and handed her a bowl of popcorn.

“Great. I’ll have a Tito’s and tonic, double lime,” she said, sliding a ten-dollar bill onto the bar.

He fixed the drink and when he delivered it, added a bowl of mixed nuts to her dinner.

“Thanks!” He nodded and moved away.

She sipped her drink and emptied the popcorn bowl and half the bowl of nuts as conversation swirled around her. After another ten minutes, the balding guy on her left signaled for the bartender to close out his tab, the move she’d been waiting for.

“Put it on my room, please,” he told the bartender, signing the bill. “It’s Gazaway, Room 325.”

“Got it,” the bartender replied.

Got it, Drue thought, gulping down the rest of her drink. She skirted the pool area and moved off to the right, looking for the entrance to the north building. She found the door easily, but once again, her key card failed. She tossed it into the nearest trash bin, then hung around for five minutes, planning to slip inside in the wake of a legit guest, but nobody approached the building.

Drue drifted into the hotel lobby and planted herself in front of the reception desk.

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.