Meg and Michael are homebound on a dreary winter's afternoon, marooned in their huge Victorian home. Alas, alack, poor things, right? Ha! They have dozens of houseguests. Students from Caerphilly College, where Michael teaches drama, slung out into the cold by the College's heating system going kerflooie in the coldest winter anyone can remember.
Add to the madness Meg's mom on a kamikaze decorating binge for the arrival of Meg's twins (genders unknown and referred to by cute names throughout like Castor and Pollux and Heckel and Jeckel), her brother Rob's computer interns, and oh yeah a murder, and the fun never stops.
But many things do, sad to note. A major plot thread involving an elderly Catalan Franco resistor and the US premiere of his sixty-year-old play goes absolutely nowhere and would have been unnoticeable had it been absent. Meg's ancient and irascible grandfather is deployed a couple times to very little immediate effect, but rather to set up and explain future plots (he donates a state-of-the-art theater and TV production facility to Caerphilly). A student love triangle resolves itself remarkably swiftly and tidily, but not hugely believably, and with little fanfare.
Still, the book was fun, and it's number 12 or some ridiculous thing, so one isn't expecting new literary forms to emerge or the Pulitzer committee to scrutinize Andrews's CV for accusations of plagiarism before awarding her an investigative journalism award or some damn thing. She's telling a fun story, taken on its own merits, and delivers on the promise implicit in the series: Sane center Meg is instrumental in weaving the correct picture from the chaos of tangled threads that surround her. Expect more, it won't deliver; expect this, you're in for a very nice afternoon's entertainment.