Murder in Monterey

Chapter I.

It was June 1970. Dell Sandberg with a house key- entered the rented ranch house. The house was located on a beach north of Seaside, California. The ranch house had a cabana to the rear of the dwelling. The house looked upon the Pacific Ocean as Dell splashed scotch, and bourbon, into a glass. He preferred bourbon. Mabel would arrive at five p.m. in the evening. They would have dinner together. Hank Swanson with his press card would arrive the next day.
It was five p.m. Mabel knocked. Setting her luggage down she had a portable electric typewriter. The typewriter was for Dell Sandberg.
They had dinner. There were a couple of TV dinners Dell heated.
After dinner they sat in the cabana to the rear of the ranch house. They had rented the house for the summer. They drank whisky sours.
Dell Sandberg, a private agent, was a freelance writer of a large magazine back east. Salt Lake City, Utah was his home. Mabel was a friend. She worked with him and Hank Swanson. Hank Swanson as said with press card was due the next day.
Evening settled over central California. They drank a few more whisky sours and it was time for bed. It was ten p.m.
“Goodnight Dell,” said Mabel.
She stood in the door of the house to the rear of the structure and waved at Dell.
“Goodnight Mabel,” said Dell.
He was thinking of the summer in California. Their plans were set.
“If all goes well I have a publisher here in Monterey,” said Dell Sandberg.
“Yes,” said Mabel.
“There should be recognition in your work. I wish you the best with this magazine publisher.”
Mabel disappeared. Dell Sandberg ground out a cigarette and locked the back door of the house. Soon he would be in bed sleeping soundly as Mabel in the adjoining room. Hank would join them the next day.
Dell Sandberg set up shop. With his portable electric typewriter ready to go he prepared to work on an article. It was after lunch with Mabel the next day. He was typing an article on Indochina to be printed by a magazine publisher here in Monterey.
It was two p.m. in the afternoon in the cabana to the rear of the dwelling which looked upon the Pacific Ocean. Dell decided to take a walk along the beach. He found a bar not far from where he was staying. He ordered a beer. A nice looking cocktail waitress brought him the beer. He smoked. Lighting a second cigarette he exhaled. He drank the beer as four p.m arrived. Leaving the waitress a tip Dell walked along the beach back to the rented ranch house. The firing ranges on Fort Ord could be heard north of their location.
In the doorway stood Mabel. Hank Swanson with press card could be seen just arrived. The three of them entered the house. It was five p.m.
“Hello Hank,” said Dell Sandberg.
Hank sat down. He had driven three hundred miles since lunch time.
“Hello Dell,” said Hank Swanson.
Mabel brought them both a beer.
“Good evening the two of you,” said Mabel Martinez.
The three of them chatted. It was the year before that they planned to spend the summer in California.
“Enough of jurisprudence,” said Mabel, again.
Hank talked easily.
“I had a job back east which lasted until Christmas,” he said.
“I photographed several big cities and won an award,”
Dell commented.
“I am here in Monterey to see quite a prolific editor from the west coast. I will see him tomorrow.”
Hank laughed easily and applauded Dell for his writing.
“You have several magazines don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Dell Sandberg.
It was time for dinner. Mabel had heated several tv dinners and the three sat down. Mabel turned on the TV.
“Well this is good,” said Hank Swanson. Hank was of medium height and heavily built. Dell Sandberg was tall and thin. Mabel was a petite brunette.
The three discussed the news. The news came on TV.
After supper they had cocktails in the cabana to the rear of the dwelling. Dell nursed a beer. Darkness came and then ten oclock p.m. They went in to the house. Soon the three rested in repose for the night. The darkness passed.
Dell Sandberg woke up the next morning in the rented ranch house. Mabel, and Hank, were gone for the day. He cooked an omelet for breakfast and poured coffee. He lit a cigarette. He smoked and got to work on his electric typewriter. He was selling a scenario fifty pages typed to a magazine editor.
Mr. Phil Burt, the magazine editor of Argo’s Magazine, a flesh magazine and journal, offered a thousand dollars for any such articles on Vietnam. With Hank and Mabel absent, he smoked. He had an appointment at two pm. with Mr. Burt.
Fixing lunch he poured coffee. Getting into his car he drove to his appointment. Mr. Phil Burt was in his office, porn king of a dozen nude periodicals.
Sitting at his appointment Dell Sandberg was five minutes early. He entered a suite swarming with bathing suits.
“Mr. Philip Burt, California Millionaire, --”
“Mr. Dell Sandberg, Freelance Writer.”
This was the introduction.
Dell Sandberg offered a fifty page scenario, The Cretins of Indochina, to Mr. Burt.
Burt concurred. A check for one thousand dollars would be forthcoming on Monday. There was a party the following Wednesday night. Today was Friday.
“Be here at seven p.m.,” said Phil Burt.
His check would be ready Monday morning. Leaving Phil Burt, Dell drove out to Seaside and saw a hotel bar on the side of the highway leading into Monterey. Pulling in he drank beer all afternoon and returned to the rented ranch house at six p.m. Mabel, and Hank, were home. They heated TV dinners again for supper. The evening passed. There were drinks in the cabana. Dell drank another beer.
It was time for bed. Friday evening had passed. It was night time in Monterey.
On Monday morning Dell Sandberg received his check for one thousand dollars. It was Tuesday, and then Wednesday the following week.
Dell was wearing a jacket ready to leave for the party Wednesday night. Mabel, and Hank, were watching TV. Dell Sandberg was off to the party with Mr. Phil Burt.
Dell liked girls and Mr. Burt was a gracious host. Leaving at ten p.m. Dell shook hands with Mr. Burt. The article typed would be ready at the end of the month.
It was Thursday morning. Dell set to work in the cabana to the rear of the rented ranch house. The house overlooked the Pacific Ocean. He was writing fifty pages on the stupidity of Indochina. He had been paid a grand.
Afternoon came and he had ten typed pages. It was time for a beer. Mabel had been to the store. There was a six pack of beer in the refrigerator. Dell popped a tab and drank a beer. He stripped to take a shower.
Mabel and Hank wanted the three of them to go out to dinner. Dell Sandberg shaved. He was ready by five p.m. Hank and Mabel were dressed. They ate at a Hofbrau in Monterey.
They were back at the house by seven p.m. Whisky flowed. They had drinks in the cabana situated on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. Dell Sandberg drank beer. The three of them were partners. They drank to success.
The next day was Friday. Phil Burt had asked Sandberg to stop by and sign a receipt. Sandberg had the check for one thousand dollars. This was in return for his published article.
Phil Burt did not feel well. There were too many girls and his head ached from a hangover.
Dell Sandberg was a qualified writer. He had a degree in Journalism. Phil Burt was editor of Argo’s Magazine. Dell would finish his article on Indochina.
Sandberg was back to the house by twelve pm. Mabel made lunch. Hank was out to town taking snapshots. Dell and Hank worked in unison. Hank had a press card. He was taking so many pictures of California in June.