Free Tempting the Devil by Patricia; Potter

firm.”
    â€œWho’ll claim attorney client privilege if we request the officers’ names. You think the locals know who owns it?”
    â€œI would think someone knows.”
    â€œFind out who pays the taxes,” Holland said.
    Ben nodded.
    â€œBe discreet. I don’t want to step on toes. Not yet, anyway.”
    â€œI’m always discreet.”
    Holland raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
    â€œI thought I might go to the funerals. See who’s there.” He didn’t mention the fact he’d attended the press conference.
    â€œGo ahead. There’ll be hundreds of various types of cops. You can always say you’re paying respects.”
    â€œWe should have someone taking photos.”
    Holland shook his head. “A little too obvious. We can get the television raw film. They’ll be out there in force.”
    Holland’s phone rang and he gestured for Ben to go.
    Ben paused. “I have a free hand?”
    â€œI’ll give you two weeks. Haver won’t be available until then. Sniff around. But don’t forget to be discreet. I don’t want complaints that we’re butting in without cause.”
    Ben nodded, exhilaration filling him. At last he had a chance of helping bring down a major crime ring, not to mention murderers.
    A strike back for his ex-wife.
    Robin was at the courthouse early. Her first stop was Justice of the Peace Graham Godwin.
    She took him a cup of coffee and donut she’d bought at the crowded diner across the street.
    â€œAh, Miss Stuart,” he said, a licentious gleam in his eyes. “Twice in the same week. I’m honored.”
    She set down the coffee and donut in front of him.
    â€œA bribe?”
    â€œYep,” she agreed.
    â€œDon’t get much for that. Of course …”
    â€œThat’s as good as I can do today.”
    â€œThere’s always tomorrow.”
    She decided to ignore his last comment. “Have you heard of any gang activity here?”
    â€œThere’s gangs everywhere these godless days.”
    â€œKid gangs? Or adult gangs?”
    He shrugged.
    â€œDo you know who owns that property where the bodies were found?”
    â€œNot anymore.”
    â€œWho did own it?”
    His gaze fixed on her breasts.
    â€œJudge?” she reminded him.
    â€œUsed to belong to old Ethan Morgan. Died in a house fire out there two years ago. Didn’t have any kin.”
    â€œWho owns it now?”
    â€œRecords are in the tax office.”
    â€œBut you know everything,” she said, flattering him. “It would save me time.”
    â€œFor a cup of coffee and a donut?”
    â€œLots of coffee and donuts.”
    He sighed in disappointment and his grizzled hands tapped a file folder in front of him.
    â€œWho owns it now?” she persisted.
    He shrugged. “Something called the Somerville Group. Don’t know who they are. Mighty secretive, if you ask me. Locals didn’t like it when it happened. A law firm represented the buyers. A corporation. Houston people, someone told me.”
    â€œHow long ago?”
    â€œTwo years ago or thereabouts.”
    â€œAnd they’ve not asked for rezoning or building permits or anything?”
    He looked at her with new respect.
    â€œNot that I’ve heard.”
    And he would have. He heard everything. Knew more about the county than anyone. Too many people had told her that to doubt it.
    â€œWasn’t there any curiosity that someone bought a large tract of land like that? Must be valuable.”
    â€œNothing like the counties closer to Atlanta. It’s coming, to my regret, but land is still cheap compared to that closer to Atlanta. They could have bought it for timber as much as lake development. Lots of that going on.”
    She had the oddest sense that he was rambling for a reason. She tried to steer the conversation back.
    â€œAnd crime? Since I’ve been covering the county, I’ve heard of