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not own a mannequin.   At least, not until now.
    Tombstone watched Donald grip the widow’s arm, holding Claudine close to his side and forcing her to acknowledge the result of her folly.   Donnie had been his only son, pampered through life and never developing the strong qualities necessary to take over the business.   Donald was okay with that.   His brothers and nephews inherited the shrewdness to safely ensconce the family legacy.   He was not ‘okay’ with Claudine.
    “Shit,” Claudine hissed.   She reached to loosen the steel grip on her arm.   What the fuck does he think I’m going to do?   Throw myself on Donnie’s coffin… or bolt from the cemetery?   “Ease up a little, Donald.”
    The preacher had ranted for half an hour, and now various friends and relatives were droning on.   After a two-hour presentation at the funeral home, she assumed the service at the graveside would be quick.   Her feet were throbbing and her legs were beginning to feel the strain of the constant attempt to balance and shift while her spiked heels sank into the soft dirt.   Fuck the reception afterwards.   She was anxious to sink into the Jacuzzi as soon as they returned to Strickland’s estate.   Hell, the damn funeral is lasting longer than our marriage.
    As far as Claudine was concerned, Donnie had conned her.   Any affection she ever felt towards her husband had disappeared quickly after their vows.   Donald had cut his son out of the family fortune when he discovered Claudine had been married twice before.   She had made her former husbands miserable enough that they had settled large onetime lump sums to release them from their commitments.   Claudine refused to accept smaller monthly payments that would cease when she remarried, because she wanted to be free to move on to her next victim.
    Donnie never mentioned his father’s decision when she dragged him to Las Vegas to elope.   Claudine had played her part too well, and the stupid fool had assumed that she was as in love as he was.
    Donald decided to bring his son home after he was certain Donnie was over his infatuation and had learned his lesson.   In the meantime, Claudine was stuck picking up the tab for their expenses.   Donald liked twisting the knife and bleeding her funds.   Within weeks, Claudine began staying out all night and having affairs, preparing her next mark.   Donnie realized that his father’s warnings were validated, but after the scene he had caused to marry Claudine, he was too embarrassed to tell him what his new wife was doing.
    Claudine was infuriated when she was told that because she was supporting Donnie, she might actually have to pay him if she filed for divorce.   She was already stuck paying all of the bills, and she watched her hard earned savings dwindle.   The sap continued to profess his love for her, and he tried to convince her they did not need his father’s money.
    Claudine was frustrated and angry at a situation she was unable to resolve, and Donnie was subjected to her caustic, shrewish remarks during her infrequent evenings at home.   In drunken despair, Donnie had wrapped his sport car around a pole when he was searching for her one night.
    Narrowing her brown eyes on the casket, amber sparks of excitement shot through their depths.   It was hard to believe that Donnie did not have some kind of trust or funds set aside in his name.   As his widow, she might be in for a healthy reward for her wasted time.   Claudine had no misconceptions that her ass of a father-in-law was going to let her remain in the mansion.   Donald had only let her move in for the funeral, and he would surely throw her out now that his son was planted.
    Finally, the last of the long list of speakers was through.   Claudine silently seethed, held in place by her father-in-law’s grip.   People passed by her without saying a word, to grasp Donald’s hand or embrace him while they offered him their sympathies.   She did