Stone Barrington gets a taste of New York City’s devious upper crust in this “sleek and engaging”* mystery in the #1 New York Times bestselling series. Hired to prove infidelity in an heiress’s marriage, Stone Barrington goes undercover. But the work turns dirty—and catastrophic—when the errant husband is found dead and the other woman disappears without a trace. Now, Stone must clear his own good name and find a killer hiding among the glitterati of New York’s high society. Praise for Dirty Work “Woods writes in a dry, witty style that keeps all his characters on a likable keel.”—* Publishers Weekly “A crisp, fleet timekiller: the fashionplate lawyer’s best outing since  Dead in the Water .”— Kirkus Reviews More Praise for Stuart Woods “Stuart Woods is a no-nonsense, slam-bang storyteller.”— Chicago Tribune “A world-class mystery writer...I try to put Woods’s books down and I can’t.”— Houston Chronicle  “Mr. Woods, like his characters, has an appealing way of making things nice and clear.”— The New York Times “Woods certainly knows how to keep the pages turning.”— Booklist “Since 1981, readers have not been able to get their fill of Stuart Woods’  New York Times  bestselling novels of suspense.”— Orlando Sentinel “Woods’s Stone Barrington is a guilty pleasure...he’s also an addiction that’s harder to kick than heroin.”— Contra Costa Times  (California) Stuart Woods was the author of more than ninety novels, including the #1 New York Times bestselling Stone Barrington series. A native of Georgia and an avid sailor and pilot, he began his writing career in the advertising industry. Chiefs , his debut in 1981, won the Edgar Award. Woods passed away in 2022. 1 Elaine’s, late. A big night—a couple of directors, a couple of movie stars, half a dozen writers, an assortment of journalists, editors, publicists, cops, wise guys, drunks, hangers-on, women of substance, and some of considerably less substance. And this was just at the tables; the bar was a whole other thing. Stone Barrington pushed his plate away and sat back. Gianni, the waiter, snatched it away. “Was it all right?” Gianni asked. “You see anything left?” Stone asked. Gianni grinned and took the plate to the kitchen. Elaine came over and sat down. “So?” she said. She did not light a cigarette. To Stone’s continuing astonishment, she had quit, cold turkey. “Not much,” Stone replied. “That’s what you always say,” Elaine said. “I’m not kidding, not much is happening.” The front door of the restaurant opened, and Bill Eggers came in. “Now something’s happening,” Elaine said. “Eggers never comes in here unless he’s looking for you, and he never looks for you unless there’s trouble.” “You wrong the man,” Stone said, waving Eggers over to the table, but he knew she was right. For ordinary work, Bill phoned; for more pressing tasks, he hunted down Stone and usually found him at Elaine’s. “Good evening, Elaine, Stone,” Eggers said. “Your cell phone is off.” “It didn’t work, did it?” Stone replied. “I gotta be someplace,” Elaine said, getting up and walking away. She got as far as the next table. “Drink?” Stone asked. Michael, the headwaiter, materialized beside them. “Johnnie Walker Black, rocks,” Eggers said. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a Wild Turkey,” Stone said to Michael. Michael vanished. “How’s it going?” Eggers asked. “You tell me,” Stone said. Eggers shrugged. “If I had to guess,” Stone said, “I’d say, not so hot.” “Oh, it’s not so bad,” Eggers replied. “Then what drags you away from home and hearth, into this den of iniquity?” “You remember that big Irish ex-cop, used to do little chores for you from time to time?” “Teddy? He dropped dead in P. J. Clarke’s three months ago.” “From what?” “How many things can an Irishman in an Irish bar drop dead of?” Stone asked, rhetorically. “Yeah,” Eggers admitted. “And why would I need somebody like Teddy?” Stone asked. “You remember telling me about that thing Teddy used to do with the water pistol?” Eggers asked. “You mean, after he kicked down a door and had his camera ready, how he squirted his naked subjects down low, so they’d grab at themselves and leave their faces open to be photographed in bed with each other?” Eggers chuckled. “That’s the one. I admire that kind of ingenuity.” The drinks came, and they both sipped for a long, contemplative moment. “So, you’re in need of that kind of ingenuity?” Stone asked at last. “You remember that prenup I tossed you last year?” Eggers asked. Bill Eggers was the managing partner of Woodman & Weld, the very prestigious New York law firm to which Stone was of counsel, which meant he sometimes did the work that Woodman & Weld did not wish to appear to be doing. “Elena Marks?” Stone asked. “The very one.” “I remember.” Elena Marks was heiress to a department store fortune, and she had married a member in high standing of the No Visible Means of Support Club. “You remember that funny little clause you wrote into her prenup?” “You mean