The Puzzler's Mansion by Eric Berlin

left, I asked her—”
    â€œAnyway!” Richard said, earning a scowl from Norma. From the way the two of them acted, Winston might have guessed that Norma was the boss of Richard instead of the other way around.
    Their host continued. “I just wanted to welcome you all, and I hope you have a wonderful weekend full of puzzles and games and friendship. Now let’s eat.”
    The meal was fantastic, one of the best of Winston’s life. Between forkfuls of salad, Richard Overton demanded updates on everybody’s life, and Winston listened to the stories with astonished ears.
    Over there, large as life, was Lawrence Rossdale, the boyish and pink-cheeked weatherman from the daytime talk show
Good Morning!
Winston never watched it, but you’d have to live in a cave not to know the man. Rossdale—“Call me Larry! I’m only Lawrence on television!”—had turned his relentless cheerfulness at the weather map into a career endorsing dozens of products in various TV commercials. Even now, Winston half expected him to hold up a bottle of steak sauce and start talking about it.
    Instead he told the group how he had just sold a line of booksto a publisher—“weather-related mysteries,” he called them. “The first one is going to be called
Storm Front,
and then
Heat Wave.
You see?” Larry looked happily around, and everyone nodded with approval.
    Derek Bibb, Winston’s neighbor at the table, talked about the play he was getting ready to launch on Broadway. Broadway! Even Winston knew to be impressed at that. So Derek Bibb was a theater director. That explained Mal’s reaction. Winston hadn’t realized Mal followed theater so closely.
    Derek talked about his play the way Winston’s English teacher went on about certain books, discussing the plot, the characters, the theme, and heaven knows what else. He actually stood up at the table like he’d been hired to give a lecture. His audience was all smiles to start, but one by one, those smiles faded—Derek seemed ready to talk about this play all night. Richard finally had to interrupt him so they could continue their way around the table. Derek blinked like a man coming out of a hypnotic trance, and then gave a surprised little laugh. “I lose my mind a little when I’m on a new production,” he said. “My apologies.” He waved a hand, indicating he was finished, and sat back down.
    â€œNothing wrong with being excited about a project,” Richard said.
    â€œBut we don’t want to be sitting here all night, either,” Gerard added, to some amiable laughter.
    Winston’s other neighbor, Kimberly Schmidt, was neither an actress nor a model—she was a musician. In fact, that was her cello standing upright in the music room. She told everyone that the following week she would be flying to Australia to play at the Sydney Opera House, which earned some oohs and aahs.
    The TV actor Chase Worthington talked about whether or not his show would be picked up for another season. “It could go either way.But I’m glad for this hiatus, so I can spend some more time with my son.” He smiled a toothy, professional actor’s smile at Zook, who didn’t look up from his meal.
    It turned out that Betty McGinley was a radio deejay, and she had a lovely, melodic voice when she wasn’t screaming at her kids. She told a funny story about hosting an awards banquet. Apparently a very famous person had fallen off the stage and into a three-tiered cake.
    When it was Gerard Deburgh’s turn to speak, he briefly mentioned opening another five EZ Burgers and then turned the spotlight on his family. “Candice here,” he said, gesturing to his wife, “has opened up a lovely antiques shop just a few miles from where we live. She has quite an eye for art and antiques.” Candice nodded, smiling, in full agreement with her husband. “And as for