Edge of Midnight by Charlene Weir Read Free Book Online Page B

assistance does this—uh, animal do?” Susan said.
    â€œLeading the way for the vision-impaired.”
    â€œGuide horse for the blind,” Ida murmured clarification.
    â€œCannot come in,” the manager stated.
    â€œI’m afraid it can,” Susan said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œThe Americans with Disabilities Act requires businesses to admit service animals.”
    â€œDogs, well behaved only, who wait under the table.”
    â€œThere is no specifications as to species,” Susan said. “Properly trained, no service animal of any kind can be banned unless it disrupts business or poses a threat to health or safety”
    â€œGinger is exceptionally well behaved.” The woman stroked the horse’s neck.
    â€œIt is impossible. Guests will flee in droves. What if she…” He held out a hand, palm up and bounced it up and down.
    The horsewoman drew herself up in offense. “Ginger is house-trained.”
    The manager stepped back in defeat, muttering in some language Susan didn’t recognize.
    â€œI suppose you have something official that says this animal is more than someone’s cute pet,” Susan said.
    A purse was unsnapped, a paper drawn out and handed to her. She read that Cinnamon Ginger, a miniature horse, had been trained as a guide for the visually impaired. She returned the paper and it was snapped once again into the purse. The woman and her friend walked into the dining room with Ginger, in her two pairs of tiny white sneakers, stepping smartly along beside them. Diners stopped eating to stare, but nobody fled, in a drove or otherwise. If anything they wanted a closer look. Susan told Ida to get back on patrol, and joined Fran at a booth in the far corner.
    Fran was giggling so hard, tears glistened in her dark, exotic eyes. With her cloud of wild black hair, clothes of vivid primary colors and silver bangles, she always brought to mind gypsies. “I must say, Chief, you handled that well. Decisive. Informed. In—”
    â€œOh, shut up.”
    Fran tore off a chunk of bread. Silver bracelets jangled with every movement. “I wonder if the manager doesn’t have a point. What if it…” Hand palm up, she mimicked his up-and-down motion.
    â€œThe horse is house-trained.” Ginger, small enough to stand under the table where her owners sat, was waiting patiently.
    â€œI didn’t know you could do that with a horse.”
    â€œI didn’t either.”
    â€œWhat’s the difference between a horse and a pony?”
    â€œGod knows.”
    â€œA horse to lead the blind,” Fran said in that flat voice of utter disbelief people use for the preposterous. She smeared butter on the bread. “Just what kind of con do you think these people are running?”
    Yeah, Susan was wondering that, too.
    Fran stuffed a chunk of bread in her mouth and studied Susan while she chewed. “You look like shit.”
    â€œThanks. It’s great to see you, too.”
    â€œDid you make an appointment with your doctor?”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not sleeping well, that’s all.”
    â€œIt’s not all, you’re tired all the time and—”
    The waiter sauntered up and rattled off specials. Susan ordered fettuccini and Fran asked for catfish. When the waiter left, Fran went on right where she left off: “—you droop around all the time. Go see the doctor. You might be anemic.”
    â€œYes, Mom.”
    â€œWhy aren’t you sleeping?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Susan moved around cutlery. “I have these weird dreams.”
    â€œReally?” Fran leaned closer. “What kind of weird? Erotic?”
    â€œMore like a sense of dread. I hear gunfire and I’m running around trying to prevent somebody from getting killed.”
    â€œWho?”
    The waiter returned with Fran’s wine.