Deeper Water by Robert Whitlow Page A

until eleven o'clock tonight if I can give you a tour or help in any way. What time would you like turndown service?"
    "What?"
    "Someone from housekeeping will prepare your bed."
    "I'm a country girl from the mountains," I answered with a smile. "I've never been in a place like this in my life."
    The boy leaned forward. He had nice eyes. "Most people who pretend to be experts about antiques and fine wine make fools of themselves. I've studied a lot to learn a little."
    "Thanks. I guess I'd like turndown service about ten o'clock."
    I peeked into the bathroom. It had a claw-foot tub. The twins would have so much fun in a room like this. I eyed the queen-size bed. The three of us could spend the night together, so long as I slept in the middle to prevent pushing and arguing.
    After all the excitement of the day, I felt tired. I pulled back the covers, lay down, and stared at the ceiling. Every detail of the room was a work of craftsmanship.

    I dozed off and woke with a start. It was almost 9:00 p.m. I hurriedly made the bed so it would be ready for turndown service.
    The bathroom was stocked with four kinds of bubble bath and salts. None of them had been opened. I read the labels, debating whether to indulge. I turned on the water in the tub. The sight of water splashing against the bottom of the tub ended any debate. I'd taken bubble baths as a child, but the sensation of bath salts would be something new.
    I lay exulting in the warm water until time to put on my pajamas in anticipation of the turndown service. For extra modesty, I slipped on the complimentary robe I found in the armoire and sat in a chair beside the bed. I didn't want to wrinkle the bedspread. Precisely at 10:00 p.m. there was a knock at my door. When I opened it, the young porter and a woman from housekeeping were there.
    "Would you like a nightcap?" the porter asked as the woman brushed past me and walked to the bed.
    I touched the top of my head. The robe was a nice extra, but I'd not slept with a cap on my head since I was a little girl on cold nights in the middle of winter. Some of the women in our church would wear a scarf as a head covering when they exhorted, but it wasn't mandatory. I could tell the porter was still trying not to laugh.
    "I meant a hot drink, glass of milk, something like that," he managed.
    "Oh, no thanks."
    My face went red, and I turned away. The woman had finished folding down the comforter on the bed and placed a chocolate in a gold wrapper on one of the pillows. I didn't look back at the porter as the woman passed me on her way out of the room.
    "Thank you," I mumbled.
    The door closed, and I quickly locked it against a further faux pas. At least I knew the French words for a "social blunder."

    I WOKE UP EARLY AND SNUGGLED DEEPER INTO THE COVERS FOR a few seconds before slipping out of bed to open the drapes. From the window, I could see the fountain in the middle of Lafayette Square and a white church with multiple spires pointing toward the morning sky. I wanted to jog around the borders of the historic district without worrying about traffic, and very early on Saturday morning seemed the perfect time. After dressing, I noticed an envelope slid underneath the door of my room.
    My heart jumped. It was probably from the nice young porter telling me not to be embarrassed and offering to take me on a tour of the city. Turning down his invitation would only increase the awkwardness I felt. I bent over and picked up the envelope. It had the name of the inn on the outside. I opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper.
    I'd misjudged the porter. Mrs. Bartlett had left a phone message at the front desk asking me to meet her in the parlor at 10:00 a.m. I put the note on the nightstand beside the bed and went downstairs. The staff was setting up the dining room for breakfast. There was no sign of the porter.
    It was a slightly muggy morning. After stretching, I ran south along Broughton Street to Forsyth Park, the largest patch