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                 Chapter 1:  Monkee, Can You Spare Me a Dime?


	"Tell me again, how did we get suckered into this?", 
Mike Nesmith asks while carrying a garment bag and a small 
suitcase to the front desk.
	"We didn't get suckered into this; we were hoodwinked,
bamboozled, swindled--", speaks Micky Dolenz, carrying a 
toiletries bag and another suitcase.
	"Don't forget invited", inserts Peter Tork carrying a 
house plant, teddy bear, and a couple of hangers.
   	"--in other words betrayed!", Micky Dolenz emphasises.  
Following him is David Jones carrying a medium suitcase and a
tambourine.
	"Oh, c'mon, fellas!  There's nothing wrong with taking
a vacation, especially since we can afford one!", he says while
walking to the front desk.  Mike rings the bell for service.
	"That's just it, Davy.  We could have saved the money 
just in case we hit some dry spots again.  The last thing I 
would not like to go through again is being extras to another 
Frankie Avalon!", Mike points out.
	"Catalina.", Micky corrects.
	"Whatever.  The point is I would like to be out of the 
rot longer than planned."
  	"You think we're not going to stay at Jumpin' Joe's
Cafe?", asks Davy.
            "Think condemned."  Davy is unsure how to respond to
this since he is(or was) satisfied with The Monkees getting a job 
at the cafe.
	"Speaking of condemned, this place looks pretty good
considering the price for the stay."  Micky says to divert the
conversation.  He rings the bell again,forgetting Mike already 
did before.
	"You think they will give us a tour?" Peter asks while
straightening out his houseplant.  He brushes off some loose 
dirt off the leaves.
	"A tour?  Why would they give us a tour?" asks Mike.
	"Isn't this a hotel in Disneyland?"
	"Last time I checked they didn't allow guys with long 
hair in Disneyland." Micky inputs.
	"No, Peter!  This is the Forest Hills Resort," explains Davy
	"Forest Hills Resort?"
	"Yeah, we're here to rest and relax.  You know, after all
the trouble we had, it wouldn't be bad to take a break from it all."
	"Need I remind you that 'the trouble we had' sometimes occured
away from our humble abode," Mike reminds.
	"Well, yeah but, you know, this is much different!", responds Davy.
	"If you say so.  It's ever a wonder how you managed to plan this,
anyhow," comments Mike.  He looks around and notices storm clouds
through the window while leaning on the desk.
	"Yeah, how did you know about this place, Davy?", inquires Micky.
	"Well, I got this call from this chick--"
	"No, Davy, not a chick!", whines Micky.
	"Figures.  He doesn't even have to see her, and he's already
hooked!", adds Mike.
	"She had a smashing voice, I figured it wouldn't hurt to 
just listen to what she had to say.  Anyways, she mentioned how 
great the place is and that we could get a discount!"  Davy sees 
Mike eyeing the lobby.  Aside from the plastic covered ottoman and
the portrait of John F. Kennedy, there's nothing really spectacular
about the lobby.
       "There's something oddly familiar with this place," notes Mike.
       "It doesn't look like the pad," remarks Peter.
       "I didn't say--"
       "Welcome to the Triple Z Mystery Inn; this is the place to
just die for!  
May I be of service?", announces a greased-hair, mid-40s man in a
casual suit.  All four turn around surprised, in more ways than one.
       "The Triple Z Mystery Inn?  I thought this was the Forest
Hills Resort?", Mike asks.
       "Yeah, I personally booked the reservations meself!", 
exclaims Davy.
       "No, I am sorry, you must be terribly mistaken.  This has 
been The Triple Z for ten years now!"
       "Davy, I think you've gotten the wrong directions."
       "We're not in Kansas anymore?", Peter questions.
       "That's impossible!  I copied them word for word from Kristie." 
       "You must be the young man my daughter was talking about!  
The one on the telephone!  The one with the British accent!",
exclaims the man.  "Of course, she didn't tell me about the long hair."
       Mike responds before 'weirdos' come into the conversation,
"Well, um, yes, sir.  We--"
      "Mr. Welsh.  Call me, Mr. Welsh."
      "Mr. Welsh, sir.  Mr. Jones, here, believed that we're booked
here, but this not the Forest Hills Resort."  Mike says this as a
fifty-nine year old man walks out the lobby wearing a Sherlock 
Holmes outfit.
       "Ah, huh, yes I see.  Christie, my daughter, has been trying
to attract customers to the Inn.  You see, business hasn't been
going well.  The rich customers do not liken much to a place like
this, and the hippies, though don't mind the decor, are not
really interested in solving murder mysteries."
       "Murder mysteries?  Someone gets murdered here?", inquires
Micky.
       "Not really.  It's all fake:  the weapons, the blood, the
screams, the flikering lights, though the $360 for solving it is
not!  Ha-ha!", jokes Mr. Welsh.
       "Three hundred sixty dollars?!?!?!", all four exclaim.
       "Think how much rent we can pay with it!!!", Mike whoops.
       "Think of the electronic stuff we could get!!", Micky happily yells.
       "Think of the vacations we could take!!", Davy gleefully says.
       "Think of the money we could buy!!", Peter cheerfully, though
unwittingly, says.
       "Now calm down, boys.  You get the money if you *solve* 
the mystery, not if you just stay at the inn," states Mr. Welsh.
       "Oh, well that shouldn't be so bad.  Since it's the four of
us, the chances of solving the murder will be about 4-0, our favor!!!", 
Mike says matter-of-factly. 
       "Really, I thought it was 4-4, their favor?", Peter asks
quizzingly.
       "Well, actually you four will be competing with three other
guests at the hotel," states Mr. Welsh.  Eeriely, thunder begins to
clap from the distance.  Mike and Micky look out the front window
and see the sky darken heavily with storm clouds.
       "Looks like a storms-a brewing, guys," Mike states.
       "No worry about that.  This area gets plenty of thunderstorms,
and plenty of blackouts," he emphasises with an engaged look.
       "Blackouts and murders, huh?  Either I'm having a bad case 
of deja vu, or we've been through this before", Mike says.
       "It could be worse, there could be werewolves in the hiding 
in the basement."  Micky adds.
       "As long as their house-broken, I could care less.  Just as
long as we have some good clean fun, and get our money's worth, eh,
Mike?" Davy asks.
       "I suppose a mystery wouldn't hurt."
       "Getting that $360 bucks wouldn't be painful either," adds
Micky.
       "Now that you've all seemed to agree upon staying here, 
I'll have Kristie show you to your room.  I would do it myself, 
but I need to start preparing supper for tonight."
       "You're cooking supper?  Don't you have hired help?", asks Mike
       "I used to, but I had to fire William and a few others because
the money is not coming in that good.  So now, I'm the cook, matire'd, 
waiter, occasional plumber, manager, and desk clerk!" admits Mr. Welch.
       "At least, you're not the hat-check girl!", states Peter.  
All three give him a mad look.



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