Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Mourning Glory ❯ Mourning Glory ( Chapter 1 )

Mourning Glory

A half smile crept slowly across Jeanne's face as she watched the casket be lowered into the ground. There was a glint in her eye she hid carefully with a veil. Sarge Dellums, her husband and center of the event, had just passed away of undeterminable causes. The whisperings of gossip told of old age and whiskey, nothing more. Jeanne bowed her head in mock mourning throughout the service. Phase one, she thought, complete.

 

Jeanne stepped carefully into her deserted house, well aware of the watching, remorseful eyes of onlookers. Keeping her head down, her steps small, and even forcing a tear or two from her eyes, the elderly woman shut the door quietly behind her. She made the picture of grief. She should know, having practiced in front of a mirror for weeks.

Discarding her hat and shoes by the staircase, the woman began the trek upwards, climbing its tall spiraling trail. She found herself panting by the time she reached the top. Shrugging it off, Jeanne entered her oft-used study. Rummaging through drawers, she found a pen and a scrap of paper. Sitting down at her desk, Jeanne addressed an envelope to her daughter, Eleanor. Jeanne's deceased husband had always insisted a certain ring of his be passed on to his daughter when he died, and Jeanne had the duty to send it. The ring was made of white gold and set with a blue diamond, the rarest of its kind. And it would most definitely not be going to Eleanor. Jeanne's grip on the pen tightened as jealousy clouded her thoughts. “If I can't have that gem, no one can,” she thought. Mind focusing, she began writing…

 

“Dear Ellie, with this ring comes a piece of my heart. I never saw Sarge without it in the 50 years that I've known him. Wear this in good health, that is my wish. Love, Jeanne.”

Eleanor Dellums read these words aloud from a letter sent by her mother. Enclosed with it lay a ring set with a pale blue stone. Ellie examined it. She did not see what value it could have. A murky blue stone accompanied a silver band, and Ellie found it bland in all aspects of the word. She slipped it on her finger, raising an eyebrow in surprise at its intense warmth. She tried to admire it. If her father wanted her to wear the thing, she would. She cared for him that much, and felt only sorrow she could not have attended the funeral. She highly doubted her mother cared at all if she had it; if something had no intrinsic value, her mother ruled it worthless. Their distant, unfriendly relationship had set them apart throughout the years, and Ellie suspected her father's wishes lead her to own this ring. Her mother probably wrote the letter to help pose as a caring mother. Hah, Jeanne cared about nothing but herself, this Ellie had always known. Setting aside the letter, Ellie ate breakfast and drove to work, where she stayed well into the night before retiring.

The next day Ellie awoke to an extreme headache. Groaning, she wobbled out of bed and down the hall to the medicine cabinet. God, it hurt even to blink. Massaging her temples therapeutically, the young woman quickly downed a couple of pain relievers and went to work. Much to her dismay, the pills seemed to have no effect. Her boss, after informing her that she looked like hell, sent the girl home. Ellie collapsed gratefully on the bed as soon as she arrived, her green eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. She could not think of what could cause this. She had not been sick in over a year, much less missed a day of work. Maybe she could just sleep it off.

Unfortunately for her, Ellie's plan of recovery proved fruitless, and she awoke again to a pounding head, this time coupled with intense nausea. She did not even bother going to work, but instead called in sick. Ellie spent the entire day abed, without the energy nor the motivation to move.

As the week progressed, her health worsened. A developing fever and ringing ears plagued her as she lay motionless on her mattress. The local doctor had only provided unhelpful antibiotics.

By the eighth day, Ellie found herself recovering slightly. The headaches had dissipated and the fever had gone down. She found the strength to get out of bed. Tiredly, she picked up a brush and ran it through her hair, only to gasp in shock as she pulled the teeth away from her head. Long locks of her chestnut brown hair clung to the comb, completely separated from her skin. Horrified, she dashed over to the mirror, unwittingly stumbling over the bathroom rug. The sudden jolt to her body sent waves of nausea over her and the headaches returned full force. Confused and sobbing in pain, Ellie slunk to the floor, passing out.

 

“Estimated time of death, one thirty p.m.” The medical examiner read the autopsy report out loud. A tall, lean detective listened intently, brow furrowed. “Name, Eleanor Dellums, age twenty-seven, five foot, three in-” The detective cut him off.

“Cause of death?” he inquired.

“Uhh, not known, as of yet,” replied the examiner, shifting uncomfortably under the man's intimidating gaze. The detective's frown deepened.

“Any medical symptoms at all? Fever, heart struggles? Come man, she didn't just drop dead!” The detective held an air of impatience.

“Err, right. She reported headaches, nausea, and uhh,” he turned the page of the report, “Fever, to her boss. In addition, we, um, found a low white blood cell count and major hair loss. Her body was emaciated, probably hadn't eaten in several days. Sir.” The examiner stumbled through the report, then licked his lips and stared nervously at the detective. In turn, the latter glowered at the countertop, apparently deep in thought.

“And you have determined no cause of death?” he prodded.

“N-no sir. Not yet, that is, Detective Ashford, ” the examiner stuttered. The detective gave a ghost of a grin.

“Calm down, I don't bite, I promise,” he told the examiner in a gentle, fatherly voice. If the other man relaxed in any way, it could not be seen visibly. The detective continued, “Recall your studies as a college student. What did you learn of radioactive poisoning and its symptoms?” Slightly confused, the student began to rattle off memorized ailments.

“Headaches, fever, lack of energy, ears ringing, periods of wellness, hair loss, white blood cell depletion, eventual cancer…..oh,” He stopped, looking sheepishly at the detective, who was nodding in approval.

“Next time try to put those hard-earned skills to use,” he commented. “May I see the body? We better make sure the substance isn't anywhere on her still.” The examiner nodded, and led Ashford to the corpse. A Geiger counter was quickly fetched, and the pair began to examine the body. A strong count emitted from the woman's right hand. Inquisitive looks were exchanged between the two men.

“Run it over the ring again,” the detective commanded. The examiner hastened to obey, placing the machine over the ring. The Geiger counter reacted immediately, the reading skyrocketing. “So, it is the ring,” the detective commented softly. “Doctor, run this through the labs. We have reason to believe that this woman has been murdered.”

 

Detective Ashford arrived at 13 Westbridge Lane, formerly the home of Miss Eleanor Dellums. Opening the unlocked door, the detective began to explore the house. His search led him through the kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom, and finally to the bedroom of the deceased. All throughout the house, the Geiger counter he had brought with him had revealed only minimal evidence of a radioactive substance. Upon entering the bedroom, however, the readings grew immensely. Going over each object carefully with the counter, Ashford found that the greatest presence came from a scrap of paper on Dellums' nightstand. Picking it up carefully, the detective examined the note.

“Jeanne,” he mused. Rummaging through the trash, he found the discarded envelope. No return address appeared on the left hand corner. He sighed. Why must people make things difficult?

 

Two hours and an empty coffee cup later, Detective Ashford had an answer.

“Jeanne Dellums, age sixty-three, lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, married to Sarge Dellums (deceased), mother of Eleanor Dellums.” He stared at the information. “Mother of….now, why would you want to kill your only child?”

 

Ashford arrived in Philadelphia the next day, intent on interviewing this woman and closing the case. He was greeted upon arrival by a woman dressed completely in black. Her pallid face starkly contrasted dark, distant eyes. She told of her husband's recent death, and dissolved into tears yet again when the detective told of Ellie's fate as well. He made sure, however, to leave out the cause of the young woman's death.

“Ms. Dellums, do you have any photographs of Eleanor and her father?” Ashford inquired casually. The lady nodded.

“She was best friends with him,” she sniffled, handing him a photo album. He started to flip through it, pausing at certain pictures. He raised an eyebrow. A picture of mother and daughter could not be found anywhere in the album.

“But apparently, Madame, not with you,” he murmured quietly.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing at all, Madame. I wonder, could I take this along with me?” The woman hesitated.

“Al-alright,” she consented. The detective nodded his thanks and left.

 

There was something odd about these pictures, Ashford decided, but he couldn't place what. He was sitting in an outdoor café, quietly sipping coffee and looking over the photos. Suddenly, the shrill ring of his cell phone startled him out of his reverie. Answering it, he found the medical examiner at the other end.

“It was thorium oxide, that gem on the ring. Highly radioactive, extremely dangerous, lethal,” the man said.

“Good work,” replied Ashford. A sudden idea came to him, and he glanced again at the pictures, his sharp eyes roving for details.

“Doctor,” he asked, “Can you tell me the color of that ring again?”

“Err, well, sir, it was a light blue-“

“Yes, yes, but the nature of it? Was it cloudy or clear?”

“Umm, cloudy sir, I believe it was cloudy…yes I have it here. A cloudy, pale blue chunk of thorium oxide...” Ashford ceased listening and stared at the photo album. There, on Sarge's right hand, rested a ring, a ring with a pale blue, crystal clear gem centered in the middle. His pale blue eyes widened a fraction.

“Doctor, could you tell me what a clear, pale blue gem of the same size would be?” he inquired.

“Err, well sir, I'd reckon it'd be a blue diamond, but there's only one person who owns a blue diamond of that size….let me see, what was his name? Delude, Demall, De-”

“Dellums?” barked the detective, hand gripping the tabletop in excitement.

“Yes, that's it, Dellums, a multibillionaire by reputation…oh, hey, isn't that the same name of the girl who just died?”

“Yes, yes it is. Listen, I need you to find out everything you can about Sarge Dellums. Now.”

“Sarge Dellums? Okay, hold on a minute…Sarge Dellums, born in Albany, New York, moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and married Jeanne Chatlier some forty five years ago. Aged to the point of blindness as of last year. Recent death, last week in fact, cause of death unknown.” He paused. This was sounding oddly familiar. “Detective?”

“Medical records.” The detective replied shortly.

“Symptoms before death…hair loss, headaches, nausea…” The detective hung up. Rising quickly, he left a generous tip on his table and left, hastening to Jeanne Dellums' house. He found her in the garage, stuffing a suitcase into the trunk of her car.

“Going somewhere?” he inquired. She turned and gasped in surprise.

“De-detective Ashford! You-you startled me! May I help you?” He glared hard at her, eyes flashing.

“The ring, Madame,” he said, extending a hand. She feigned confusion. Before she could speak, however, he intervened, “We have substantial proof that you murdered both your husband and daughter for the blue diamond ring. Do you deny it?” He pierced her with a glare.

The woman stared at him for a moment, before a small, lopsided, half-grin appeared on her distant face.

“No,” she replied, her voice strangely calm, eyes wide and slightly unfocused. “I wanted that ring, you know, but he wanted to give it to Ellie. Rightfully, it should have been mine.” She paused. Ashford waited with baited breath. “I had to do something,”she continued calmly, “I couldn't let that silly girl get hold of it, she's so careless.” She spoke as easily as if she were discussing the weather, then sighed. “So you see, I had to kill him, switch his ring with a toxic one and kill him. He couldn't tell the difference, the blind old bat. And then I sent the ring to Ellie…all I was doing was protecting the ring, don't you see?” Her grin spread in the tiniest of increments, and she continued to stare fixedly into space. Ashford felt a shiver run down his spine. He cleared his throat, and moved toward the woman.

“Jeanne Dellums, you are under arrest for the murder of Sarge Dellums and Eleanor Dellums. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney…"