CHAPTER TWENTYBen Zinowicz was quite the gentleman, Lindsey thought. You had to give him that.
He invited them in, sat them down side by side on a Louis XIV love seat in his living room, and insisted that they take refreshments. The fire had died down to embers, but ben Zinowicz added wood and poked the flames back up.
There was music playing, the kind of vaguely Mozart-Bach stuff that had always bored Hobart Lindsey to sleep.
Ben Zinowicz didn’t have a hair out of place, but his eyes looked watery and his nose red. He brought out a bottle of brandy and three snifters, set them down on a low table and eased himself into an elegant armchair. He’d been leaning on his polished walking stick, now he leaned it against his chair. He gave Lindsey and Margarita a look of mildly offended innocen
