Follow those footsteps.

It isn't much of a decision on your part. Company is company.

You folow the footsteps, realizing with excitement that, had the prints been more than an hour or so old, the sand would have blown over them, erasing them forever. That meant whoever she was, she was close.

When you reach the deck that lines the side of the street, you notice the sign on the door reads: Beckford Inn.

You push the door open and hurry inside, stopping just inside the doorway and looking around. You're in a small foyer. Ahead of you is a stairwell, leading up and outof sight. To your left is a closed door. To the right of you is a long corridor that leads into a room that appears to be the kitchen.