Tombstone Read Online Free PDF

notice a few of the men seemed to be giving her appraising looks.
    Claudine had a voracious sexual appetite, especially when she was grifting a new mark.   She was used to the effect her raw sensuality had on men, and their heated looks fed her vanity.   Donald’s friends were different, and rather than the pleasing rush of potential conquest dampening her panties, the look in these mourners’ eyes chilled her.   What a bunch of arrogant fools, she decided.
    Anxious to kick off the pinching high heels, Claudine turned towards the waiting limousine.   Donald continued to grip her arm and hold her in place, while he stared at his son’s coffin.   “Don’t we need to get going to the reception?” she asked irritably.   She could almost feel the warmth of the tub jets caressing her.
    Donald turned her, and then, without saying a word, he guided her towards a man standing several rows away next to a small backhoe.   He was tall and powerfully built, and dressed in rugged work clothes with his face half-hidden by his cap.   It had not occurred to Claudine that they used machinery to cover the coffins.   Somehow, it seemed like cheating, and less traditional than picturing a man laboring for the rest of the afternoon with a shovel.
    “Donald,” she protested, and she tried to pull away.   Claudine had put up with about as much of this farce as she could stand.   His grip became bruising as he tugged her along.   “Shit,” she muttered, and her free hand dug in her black purse for a cigarette.   Her angry shaking fingers snapped twice at the lighter before it ignited.
    Tombstone pushed up from the backhoe, and took two steps towards Strickland.   The grief in the older man’s eyes was visible, but not as intense as the seething fury in his stare.   Donald glanced at the headstone lying inside the rusted bucket.   “That it?”
    “Yes, Mr. Strickland.”   Tombstone walked the grieving man over to the granite plaque while the widow stood to the side and sucked her cigarette, puffing out angry bursts of smoke.   Strickland trailed his fingers along the etched trench.   “That’s the widow?” Tombstone confirmed in a low voice.
    “Yes, that’s Claudine.   You’re positive there will not be a problem?”
    “I guarantee my work, Mr. Strickland.”
    Claudine twisted the toe of her shoe over the cigarette butt.   It reminded her how tight the shoes had become after standing for so long.   She watched Donald hand the laborer an envelope, presumably to pay for his services.   They were talking in hushed tones, but she was sick of all the depressing drama and began walking towards the parking lot.
    Strickland asked, “How long before…”
    “Two months, Mr. Strickland.   Delivery will be November 5 th ,” Tombstone replied.
    Donald Strickland stared at the bitch while she walked away without bothering to look at the headstone.   She had killed his son, and he intended to make her pay for the rest of her life.   “I expect what I’ve paid you for.”
    “I told you, Mr. Strickland.   I guarantee my work,” Tombstone repeated.
    Donald yelled, “Get your ass back over here and look at your husband’s memorial.”
    Claudine froze when his voice rang out.   Admittedly, the man’s dislike of her was obvious, but Donald had never spoken to her that way.   The limousine they had arrived in was only car left in the parking lot, so she decided she had better follow his order.   She pasted on a smile and walked back to them.   “I’m sorry, Donald.   I thought you wanted a private moment.”   She pushed past the gravedigger.   “Excuse me.”   He crowded close behind her and she scowled into his shadowed features.   The man ignored her, so she glanced down at the piece of rock in the machine, planning an ambiguous compliment to get it over with.
    Claudine’s mouth dropped open and she gasped.   Her trembling fingers reached towards the granite while she shook her head in shocked