Jealousy Burning

By M. M. Routson

A story of love, hate, jealousy, romance and fear.
From M.M. Routson the creator of “Love Thy Provider’ comes this electrifying novel.
A relentless buildup of suspense and intrigue from the first page to the riveting
conclusion.
There is peril, romance, and suspense aplenty. The categorical characters will hold
the readers interest with crackling dialog and persona.
A beautiful blonde who works in the diamond district is approached by an undesired
suitor. When his intentions are rejected he becomes adamant and obsessed with the
challenge of winning her over. When his overtures fail he gets angry. When he sees
her with another man he becomes crazed with jealousy and begins a regular routine
of stalking and harassing that ends in hardship and disaster.
“Jealousy Burning” is a tragic love story that is hard to put down. You will want to
read it to the end and then tell your friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796076103

M. M. Routson

M. M. Routson, pictured here with his lovely wife Jean, enjoys traveling and spending time with family and friends. Mike still dabbles in his real estate investments and day trades commodities as a hobby. Smuggler’s Dues, his latest publication, is a sequel to Jealousy Burning, also published by Xlibris. His first attempt at writing was Love Thy Provider, a “how to” book for wannabe landlords.

Book preview

Jealousy Burning

M.M Routson

Copyright © 2020 by M.M Routson.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-7960-7611-0

                eBook            978-1-7960-7610-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 01/09/2020

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 The story begins in late summer 1989.

Chapter 2 Phillip arrived at his mom’s

Chapter 3 Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Chapter 4 Giorgio’s

Chapter 5 Next Morning

Chapter 6 Saturday

Chapter 7 Sunday Morning

Chapter 8 Marty Meets Mark

Chapter 9 Next Morning

Chapter 10 Bay View

Chapter 11 Next Morning

Chapter 12 Motel 6

Chapter 13 The Confession

Chapter 14 Motel 6 Sunday Morning

Chapter 15 Monday Morning

Chapter 16 Insurance Investigators, Carl Dapore and Dan Campbell

Chapter 17 The Recording

Chapter 18 Fire Marshal (Tuesday, October 17)

Chapter 19 Wednesday, October 18

Chapter 20 Thursday, October 19

Chapter 21 The Questioning

Chapter 22 Courthouse

Chapter 23 Speaking of Mark

Chapter 24 Back at Marty’s New Apartment

Chapter 25 Now it is Sunday morning

Chapter 26 Saturday, October 28

Chapter 27 The Trial

Chapter 28 Ten Days Later

Chapter 29 February 20, 1990, Tuesday, 5:30 a.m.

Prologue

It was a Saturday morning, October 14, 1989, when Mark Roberts and Marty Johnston were rudely awakened in Mark’s camper at the lake.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Anyone in there? It’s Paul from the bar! Anyone in there?

Paul was a grumpy, dog-faced man who owned the bar at the end of the channel. He lived above the bar and rarely ventured far from it.

What the hell? Mark mumbled as he awoke from a sound sleep. He glanced at the clock. 8:17. He glanced back at the bed. Marty was now up on one elbow, looking surprised and concerned. Mark made a face and shrugged to indicate that he had no idea what was going on.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

I’m coming! Mark barked as he pulled on his jeans.

Mark opened the trailer door.

Paul? What’s going on?

I just got a call that your house burned down.

What?!

I don’t know. That’s what he said.

Who said?

I don’t know. Jim, I think? I got to get back. Paul turned and left, showing little concern as he drove his golf cart through the yard and back toward the bar.

Marty overheard what Paul said and grabbed her bag and headed for the bathroom without speaking. Mark’s head was spinning with the news he had just received. Could it be true? he thought. Surely not.

Mark proceeded to get dressed while waiting to get in the bathroom. He was thinking about and remembering the night before and the excitement of his second real date with Marty. They came to his place at the lake and enjoyed a fun-filled evening of D, D, and D—dinner, drinks, and dancing. Marty agreed to the overnight stay with Mark’s promise of a platonic evening. Their relationship was too new for the hope of a sexual encounter, and Mark did not want Marty to think that this was just a ploy. Mark retained his image of a gentleman and respected Marty even though they shared his bed for the night. He had offered to sleep on the couch, but Marty insisted that he sleep in the bed, to Mark’s delight.

Mark finished getting dressed, and as he pulled on his cowboy boots, the bathroom door opened and Marty stepped out, allowing Mark in to use the toilet. She put on her makeup at the mirrored closet door. The mood was somber, with few words being spoken.

You seem pretty calm. Do you think your house really burned? Marty asked.

Mark stammered, I … I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. Please hurry. We have to go.

This was 1989, and cell phones weren’t around yet, so the only communication available was the phone booth outside the bar.

Mark and Marty left the trailer and headed down the gravel road toward the bar and the highway. When they were almost at the bar, they spotted Paul coming toward them in his golf cart. Paul recognized Mark and waved him over.

Looking very perturbed, Paul asked, Is her name Marty?

Yes, why?

Someone just called and said there is an emergency and for her to call Jeannie.

Mark looked at Marty and then back at Paul. OK, he said. Thanks.

Mark pulled up to the phone booth, and Marty jumped out of the car with a very worried look on her face. Mark was calm but frustrated by the delay. He watched Marty deposit the necessary quarters and dial Jeannie’s number. Seconds later, he observed Marty falling to her knees. He quickly jumped out of the car to her aid. She said, "My house has burned too!" She was crying profusely as she got back into the car, and Mark sped out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The ride back was forty minutes, and Mark’s mind was reeling. He was putting two and two together. What were the odds that both their houses were on fire at the same time?

Marty, there is something you are not telling me. How can both our houses be on fire? What the hell is going on?

Marty got a shocked, surprised look on her face, turned with crying eyes, and blurted out a name.

Phillip! Oh my god! It’s Phillip!

The story begins in late summer 1989.

Recently unemployed—or should I say fired—Phillip Plummer, a thirty-six-year-old divorcé, was on his way to his Tae Kwon Do lesson. He was into learning all he could about martial arts and weaponry. Ever since he was a kid, he had always had his face buried in some kind of graphic novel (comic book) about kung fu fighters or sci-fi with dark evildoers. His appearance always seemed to replicate a character he was reading about. He envied and admired dark characters. He was riding his suicide machine, a shiny black Ninja with Bridgestone racing tires. He was zigzagging it in and out of traffic with a death wish or devil-may-care attitude. He knew that if he didn’t find a job soon, the bike will get repoed.

Phillip had a lot on his mind these days. Besides having no job, his ex-wife was calling him several times a day demanding that he pay his child support. Phillip was the father of a three-year-old boy whom he never seemed to care about until the separation. Now he wanted him every weekend, but the mother wouldn’t let Phillip see him. Phillip had displayed some anger issues while going through the divorce. Pulling a knife on his wife and threatening to slit her throat only landed him a night in jail and a restraining order. Now he only had supervised visits when his wife felt generous.

Besides that, Phillip worried about the money he owed for some cocaine he scored last week. He had planned to sell enough to cover his cost but ended up snorting it all himself. Now he was afraid to go home for fear his dealer would be there. He had already called Phillip three times. Today he wondered if his sensei would realize that he was also three payments behind his classes. Phillip’s financial problems stemmed from some deep-seated psychological problems. He couldn’t seem to hold a job. His last job was with an auto parts metal finisher. Loner that he was, he seemed to resent any male superiority, especially the boss. And he showed it in his attitude and ability to get along with coworkers. He didn’t like taking orders. He could not converse about sports or current events. His views on religion and politics were distorted with shades of Marxism. His wife of four years quickly discovered that Phillip was a strange individual with a very scary psyche. His inability to provide financially caused regular arguments and the unavoidable divorce.

As he zipped along Far Hills Avenue, he was only a few blocks away from his dojo and traffic was stopping abruptly. An accident was ahead. Phillip squeezed the front brake handle and pressed hard and fast on the back brake pedal. He almost lost it and barely missed hitting the bumper of the car ahead. What the hell happened? Up ahead, he could see a red SUV T-boned by a primered gray pickup truck. Both lanes were blocked. As he sat there in the hot summer sun, he could feel beads of sweat start to roll down from under his helmet and drip off his chin. He quickly considered his options and was about to illegally drive between the cars and get the accident behind him when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman. Mmm mmm. Nice, he thought. Very nice. There across the street in front of the jewelry store stood this beautiful woman dressed in a crisp white shirt with starched collar and a small black tie that just crossed at the neckline, a red wool blazer with a fashionably short black skirt, and black pumps. She was a golden-haired blonde, and her hair actually glistened like a halo as it bounced on her shoulders in the sunlight. She carried a large key ring with many keys on her left wrist.

The woman worked at Kaireman’s Jewelers, a top-end jewelry store that had been in business at the same location for over fifty years. Isaac Kaireman founded the store and mostly only worked in the back now, while his son, David, was slowly taking over the business (a Jewish tradition). David and the woman employee heard the crash and rushed outside the store to see what had happened. The store security officer, Harold, stood guard over the store and watched the door. Sirens could be heard now as they drew closer to the scene. Phillip pulled his motorcycle over to the curb and turned it off in the shade of a maple tree. He removed his helmet to get a better view of the dish across the street. Mmmm, very nice.

Phillip was a womanizer just like his old man. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He didn’t remember a lot about his dad. His dad left when he was eight. What he did remember were the drunken beatings with the belt or back of the hand or how he was made to take showers with his dad when he was five or so—showers involving washing each other and doing things he felt was wrong even at five. Phillip developed mommy issues. Theresa, Phillip’s mother, was the only one who ever showed him any love or attention. After Daddy left, Phillip slept with her until he was well into his teen years. His mother saw him as the pathetic little man he was and resented the fact that he looked like his dad and was a chip off the old block. But still, he was her only son, and she loved him in spite of himself. He ran to her with all his problems. She held him and told him everything would be OK. Phillip only hated his mother when he watched her through his bedroom door keyhole entertaining the different boyfriends who came and went. Once, one of the gentlemen hung around for a few weeks. Phillip hated this man and plotted about how he would kill him and his mother too. His mother could see Phillip’s anger and unhappiness. More than one dinner was ruined with fighting at the table. The boyfriend, Rocky, was a no-account just trying to live off her. Theresa gave him the boot after the last fiasco in the kitchen when it became physical between him and Phillip. Only the threat of calling the police got them to stop.

Since the divorce, Phillip had tried coming on to different women with a modicum of success. He really wasn’t a bad-looking young man. He kept himself in good physical shape. He stood just short of six feet with dark hair, and his steel-blue eyes were hard not to stare at. He thought his foolish little goatee made him irresistible with the ladies—sort of an old-time movie star look. The Chinese dragon tattoo on his left forearm made him feel macho. He thought it got him attention and respect. The whole ensemble of black denim jeans, black leather racing jacket, and engineer boots completed the bad boy look he was going for, right down to the chained leather billfold in his back pocket. Most of the women he came on to were teenyboppers who looked like any easy score. Some were. Once he had them, he didn’t want them. Some were married women who would flirt but wouldn’t, couldn’t go out with him. For some women, they sensed his creepiness right away and left him feeling rejected and angry. He desired a lasting relationship but believed in his heart that women were stupid and only good for one thing.

The police and ambulance were now on the scene, and traffic was being diverted around the wrecked vehicles. Phillip watched as the man and the woman went back into the jewelry store. Mmm mmm, nice legs! He placed his helmet back on his head, fired up the bike, and squealed his back tire as he peeled away from the curb and back into the zigzag rhythm through city traffic. Phillip arrived at the dojo just as the class was about to begin. He hurriedly got into his kendo sparring jacket and belt and joined the others. He was the oldest student. As he went through the motions, his mind could not stop thinking about the hot blonde at the jewelry store. He was already putting together scenarios in his mind on how he would arrange to meet this woman.

His lesson lasted sixty minutes. He thoroughly enjoyed learning kung fu moves that he hoped he would have an opportunity to use someday to intimidate and put down an adversary. Back into his biker uniform and leaving the building, his thoughts once again turned to the blonde at the jewelry store. He decided to cruise back by there in hopes of seeing her again.

From outside the store, he could see the uniformed rent-a-cop standing just inside the door. Because of the high-end merchandise, the doors to the public remained locked until the security guard allowed admittance. The black tint on the store windows made it nearly impossible to see in. Phillip noted the closing time and decided to come back later to watch her leave the store.

Phillip returned to his apartment, locked his bike inside the garage, and reluctantly went inside to deal with messages left on the recorder. As expected, he had numerous calls from his ex and another threatening call from his dealer. He snorted the last gram of coke in the vial and deleted the messages as the phone rang again. He was reluctant to answer. It was his mother.

What is it, Maw?

Some guy was here looking for you today. Are you in some kind of trouble?

No, Maw. I borrowed some money from him. He wants it back, and I don’t have it. You gotta help me out, Maw.

Oh, Philly, when are you going to stop hanging around those kind of people?

Come on, Maw, lay off. Stop lecturing me and help me out here. I only need three hundred. My unemployment will start anytime now. You know I will pay you back.

Come over for dinner tonight, and we can talk about it.

OK, Maw. I’ll see ya at six. Love ya.

I love you too, son.

Phillip hung up and then called his supplier to promise payment tomorrow. Phillip grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and then sat down with one of his favorite dirty magazines. He started fantasizing about the blonde and tried to find women in the magazine who looked like her. He flipped from one page to the other, imagining what it would be like to actually make it with the blonde from the jewelry store. One eye on the clock, and he knew he had to wrap it up and head over to Maw’s for dinner and cash. He grabbed the keys to the blue Firebird parked in front of his apartment and drove six blocks over to his mom’s.

Phillip’s mom, Theresa Feltner, was a fifty-nine-year old divorced/widowed factory worker. She had worked at a paper box company for over eighteen years until she recently got laid off with little or no chance of being called back. Business at the plant had been steadily going down for the past several years, unable to compete with foreign imports. Theresa now worked as a daytime bartender and canteen manager at the neighborhood AMVETS, where she worked for minimum wage plus tips and carryout food leftover after meetings and events. She showed more than her age. She left the top couple of buttons unbuttoned on her blouse, showing some wrinkled cleavage. She gave the old-timers a thrill when she leaned into the cooler to get their beer. She believed it got her bigger tips. Her hands looked like a woman twice her age. T., as she was known at the bar and by friends, had a hard life. Her ex, Carl Plummer (Phillip’s dad), who abused and beat her, coupled with bad health, had left her looking hard. She had been diagnosed with COPD, but that didn’t stop her from smoking two packs a day. Her second husband was Junior Feltner. He worked as a lineman for the Pioneer Electric Company until the day his safety belt slipped and he touched both lines at the same time. The electric jolt threw him fifty feet from the pole. The coroner said he was dead before he hit the ground. Even though they had only been married six months, she was able to collect his social security, and God knew she needed it. The $239 per month and the insurance he had with the company was just enough to cover his funeral expenses and casket. She misses Junior to this day. He treated her right and loved her. She feels cheated that they had such little time together. Even when she smiled, you could see that she was not happy. They liked her at the AMVETS. She showed up on time, worked hard, was good with the customers, and didn’t steal from them—a combination hard to find in most of the area service clubs. The worst thing she had to deal with were the crass sexual remarks by the dirty old vets who showed up every day about the same predictable time to tease her. She didn’t really mind the old farts but wished she could do better.

Phillip arrived at his mom’s

Phillip saw Rocky, his Maw’s fifty-year-old ex-boyfriend, coming down the walk. Dammit! Why is he always here? Figures he would show up to eat! Phillip disliked Rocky very much. He thought it was over between Rocky and his mom after she threw him out three months ago. He knew Rocky was bangin’ his old lady and using her, always borrowing money for beer and cigarettes and never paying her back. Rocky didn’t drive. He lost his license with his last DWI. You could see him walking or staggering all over town. All he did was lay around drinking beer, smoking pot, watching cartoons, and collecting his SSI disability for his bipolar condition. Maw can sure pick ’em! He was a long-haired tough guy who liked getting loaded and starting fights. The only bar that still allowed him was Possum’s, and that was only because Possum was Rocky’s uncle. He was barred everywhere else. The AMVETS allowed him because he hadn’t started anything there yet and he was T.’s boyfriend. She worked from nine to five, and he wasn’t usually drunk that early. Actually, he was a pretty decent guy when he was sober. But everybody knew him, and they know he could go off easily. In Phillip’s eyes, Rocky was a loser, and he wished he’d just disappear. In Rocky’s eyes, he saw Phillip as a loser who only tried to come between him and T.

Does he have to be here? Phillip said.

Philly, be nice. Get your hands washed. Supper is on the stove.

Rocky walked right into the house, not even knocking, grabbed Theresa’s cigarettes, and headed straight for the refrigerator. Hey, T.

Hey, Rock. Theresa pleaded, I’m gonna need the fifty bucks you owe me or my phone’s going to get shut off.

I hear ya, he belched.

Phillip sat down and nodded an acknowledging glance to Rocky, who jerked his head back. Sup?

Theresa put out her cigarette and brought a pan of mashed potatoes and a plate with meat loaf to the table and watched Rocky grab the meat loaf before she could even set it down. She returned to the stove for some green beans that were boiling over and told Phillip that she needed him to watch his sister’s kids while she went to the doctor’s with her.

Aw, Maw! I got shit to do tomorrow!

Gimme dah ketchup. Rocky had filled a plate and moved to the living room with his spoon to watch a rerun of The Flintstones while he ate.

Maw! I can’t watch Angel’s kids tomorrow.

You got to, she insisted. There ain’t nobody else. It’s just for a couple of hours. You can do this for Angel. She has helped you enough times.

All right! Phillip conceded. I’ll do it.

Maw! Maw! I need that money. I got to go.

Sure, just eat and run, Maw chided. Philly, I know you are a good boy. I hope you aren’t buying drugs with this, she said and handed him the money. She was a fine one to talk. She and Rocky smoked a joint almost every night they were together.

Thanks, Maw. Love ya. And out the door he went. Theresa cleared the table. She went into the living room, gave Rocky a kiss on his head, and returned to the kitchen with his dirty plate and spoon.

Grab me a beer when you come back, he demanded.

When Phillip returned home, there were four more calls from Bubba, the dealer. Phillip grabbed the phone and dialed Bubba’s number. Got it, he said. Be right there. He hung up and bolted out the door. On his way to pay Bubba, Phillip drove by the Kaireman’s jewelry store. Wonder if she is still there? he thought. Eight thirty. The store closes at nine. I’ll be back.

Phillip made his money drop and headed back to Far Hills Avenue. He was feeling real good. Bubba is off his back, and the line of coke Bubba shared with him didn’t hurt either. It was nine o’clock as Phillip pulled his car into the Revco parking lot across the street, not wanting to be conspicuous and wanting a good view of Kaireman’s. He watched as security walked the last customer out the door and locked the door behind her. At the same time, half the lights in the store were turned off; and he saw three people emptying the display cases and carrying merchandise to the back, where, he assumed, they were locked in a safe. Phillip tapped his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel as he grew impatient with the wait. He wanted to see the blonde leave the store. What could they be doing that is taking so long? he wondered.

Inside the store, Marty was trying to do her count. Every piece of jewelry had to be counted from each case before going to the vault. Shut up! I am trying to count and get the hell out of here. Her coworker, Connie Shapiro, wanted her to go out with her after they left work. Marty said, Nobody will be there tonight. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine. Let’s wait and go tomorrow night. Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two. I don’t feel like it tonight. Eighty-three, eighty-four. I just want to go home. I’m tired.

Yeah, OK, Connie answered back. I need to wash my hair anyway.

All the cases were counted and emptied as Mr. Kaireman closed out the cash register and headed to the back to make up the deposit. Marty Sue ran the sweeper while Connie used glass cleaner on the cases. By now, Phillip was getting pissed. He was waiting almost an hour, and Revco was starting to turn off their lights. At last! At last the lights were off, and people were exiting out Kaireman’s front door. The security cop walked the ladies out as Mr. Kaireman locked the door behind them. He would be leaving out the back door as he set the alarm for the night.

It was starting to rain, and it was blurring Phillip’s view across the street. He was reluctant to turn on the wipers as he knew it would smear the bugs and impair his vision more. He rolled down the driver’s side window and poked his head out enough to see the blonde strutting to her car ahead of the guard. She was wearing a taupe raincoat with the hood up and was carrying a large black briefcase-style handbag in one hand and her keys out and ready in the other. She was in her car in a flash, with the motor running, lights on, and wipers going. Phillip could tell it was a white car, but her headlights further blocked his vision, and he could not make out the make or model. Marty’s car began to roll.

As Marty pulled out onto Far Hills, oncoming traffic kept Phillip from pulling out. His intention was to follow her. I can see her pulling out. It’s an ’81 white Chevy Cavalier convertible. Dammit! Shit! Shit! Shit! She is getting away! he cursed. Now he was fishtailing as