Martin Clark—who has set, according to the Winston-Salem Journal, “the new standard by which other works of legal fiction should be judged”—now delivers his finest novel yet.   Lisa and Joe Stone, married for twenty years and partners in their small law firm in Henry County, Virginia, handle less-than-glamorous cases, whether domestic disputes, personal injury settlements, or never-ending complaints from their cantankerous client Lettie VanSandt (“eccentric” by some accounts, “certifiable” by others).  When Lettie dies in a freakish fire, the Stones think it’s certainly possible that she was cooking meth in her trailer. But details soon emerge that lead them to question how “accidental” her demise actually was, and settling her peculiar estate becomes endlessly complicated. Before long, the Stones find themselves entangled in a corporate conspiracy that will require all their legal skills—not to mention some difficult ethical choices—for them to survive.   Meanwhile, Lisa is desperately trying to shield Joe from a secret, dreadful error that she would give anything to erase, even as his career—and her own—hangs in the balance. In The Jezebel Remedy , Clark gives us a stunning portrait of a marriage, an intricate tour of the legal system, and a relentlessly entertaining story that is full of inventions, shocks, and understanding.  “Clark is, hands down, our finest legal-thriller writer.” —Tina Jordan, Entertainment Weekly “A little bit of Tom Wolfe, John Grisham, and Carl Hiaasen, but completely original and vastly entertaining.  Martin Clark knows how to write and how to spin a great yarn. I found myself trying to give marital advice to Clark’s fictitious but all too real characters, Joe and Lisa Stone. Would I hire the husband-wife law firm of Stone & Stone?  Maybe not, but I’d love to hang out with them. I nominate Jezebel Remedy for best-plotted and quirkiest legal thriller of the year.” —Nelson DeMille   “A portrait of fine but flawed humans who find themselves unexpectedly thrust into the deep end of a system where the law can be either a life raft or a dead weight, depending on who gets to make the final judgment call. . . . Clark has a practiced ear for the subtlety and nuance of everyday existence.” — Thane Tierney, BookPage “Fast-paced and delightfully unpredictable. . . Not only do the frequent plot twists keep the reader glued to the page, but Clark’s depiction of life in rural Virginia and the depth and sensitivity of his character portrayals make the book memorable for much more than its clever legal machinations. . . . Recommend the book to fans of Scott Turow and John Grisham, then don’t be surprised when they come back looking for more.” —Nancy McNicole, Library Journal (starred review)   “Its snappy repartee, shrewd regional observations, and quirky characterizations help one understand why Clark’s been compared to the likes of Elmore Leonard and, especially, Carl Hiaasen.” — Kirkus Reviews   “A rollicking, comic legal thriller that encompasses false disguises, secret assignations, and a colorful case of scene-stealing secondary characters.”  —Joanne Wilkinson, Booklist MARTIN CLARK is a Virginia circuit court judge. His past novels have been chosen as a New York Times Notable Book, a Washington Post Book World Best Book of the Year, a Bookmarks Magazine Best Book of the Year, a finalist for the Stephen Crane First Fiction Award, and a Book-of-the-Month Club selection. His last novel, The Legal Limit, was the winner of the Library of Virginia’s People’s Choice Award and was called “a model of how to write a literary legal thriller” by The Oregonian. He   lives in Patrick County, Virginia, with his wife, Deana. www.martinclark.com   Chapter One But . . . Her husband, Joe Stone, was in his office at the opposite end of the building, a pair of matching Persian rugs and a long hallway of beaten oak boards distant, his door shut, their sweet cur dog, Brownie, probably dozing tail to snout on a chamois pad beside the heat vent, and Joe was no doubt explaining every boilerplate detail of the umpteenth will he’d prepared for his mercurial, crackpot client Lettie Pauline VanSandt, who, only a few minutes ago, had tracked red mud across the nice carpets and into his office, heedless as always. Nothing but a damn millstone, Lettie. For sure, neither she nor Joe would tend to the mud. Lisa Agnes Kennedy Hotchkiss Stone and Joe had been married almost twenty years. She had five names, whereas he had only two, lacked anything in the middle. “NMN” was how it appeared on his driver’s license. Joe NMN Stone. She and Joe had been law partners for practically all those years, just the two of them and their various secretaries, as well as an office manager they’d been able to afford once the money became consistent. This very November morning, watching him pour a cup of black coffee in their kitchen, she’d appreciated—­again—­what a graceful and handsome