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.