Without a Trace by Lesley Pearse Page B

could get shot by some hoodlum tonight when I go on duty. You just never know what’s in store for you.’
    ‘A cheerful thought,’ Molly said. ‘But if I don’t get home soon I know what will be in store for me. Dad will be on the war path.’



CHAPTER FIVE
    Four days after the funeral Enoch Flowers came into the shop. Molly had been surprised to see him at Cassie’s funeral. He hadn’t spoken to her there, not even a nod, but that wasn’t unusual, as he was famously silent.
    Molly thought he looked like a gnome: short and tubby with a slightly too large head and deep creases in his face, like an apple that has been kept too long. No one knew exactly how old he was, but it was generally thought he was in his seventies. Yet he still ran his farm alone, milking over thirty cows a day, along with all the other chores.
    As usual, he was wearing a very worn tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, moleskin trousers held in at the ankles with gaiters and a grubby neckerchief of indeterminate colour. He brought into the shop with him a farmyard smell, and Mrs Parsons, who was getting Molly to slice some bacon rashers, wrinkled her nose in disgust.
    ‘Good to see you, Mr Flowers,’ Molly said. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
    Mrs Parson normally lingered to gossip after paying for her groceries, but the smell got too much for her and she hurried out, still with a wrinkled nose.
    ‘I come to see if you want to go up to Stone Cottage and go through the young lass’s things, take anything you’ve got a mind to?’ Mr Flowers growled at Molly in his strong Somerset accent.
    Molly almost asked him to repeat what he’d said. She couldn’t really believe she’d heard right.
    ‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she said cautiously, wondering if there was some kind of catch to his offer.
    ‘Well, you were the only pal she did have, and I knows she appreciated your kindness. There ain’t nothing there of value, but it struck me you was the kind to want a keepsake.’
    Molly was astounded that he could be so sensitive, and that he’d obviously had a soft spot for Cassie. ‘I’d like that. I really miss her,’ she said. ‘And maybe I could take a few of Petal’s things, just in case the police find her?’
    ‘I don’t hold out much hope of that,’ he said. ‘Pretty little thing she were, too, a credit to her ma. I miss ’em both; they used to come up to the farm for milk and eggs. Always smiling, the littl’un. Her ma was a good’un an’all. She’d have made a fine farmer’s wife.’
    Such warmth from a man who normally communicated in grunts was astounding, and it made Molly glow to hear her friend praised.
    ‘I wish everyone in this village was as kind about her. I find it very sad that they can’t even say something nice now she’s dead, or even show concern for Petal.’
    ‘Most folks is like that,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plenty said about me. Anyways, Miss March came here to hide away from someone. I reckon he tracked her down. He’ll have killed Petal now and buried her someplace,’ he said.
    ‘I’m really hoping that isn’t the case.’
    Flowers grimaced. ‘I don’t reckon he knew she had a kid till he got to the cottage. What else could he do with her? You can’t let a kid tag along with you when you’ve just killed her ma.’
    ‘Cassie never told me she was hiding from someone,’ Molly said.
    ‘Nor me, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize the signs. Any road, I gotta go now. I’ve left the key under a stone by the pump. You take what you want and I’ll get rid of the rest.’
    After Mr Flowers had left Molly went outside the shop to arrange the fruit and vegetables more neatly, and to let his smell disperse through the open door. She wondered what would be a good keepsake. As far as she remembered, Cassie didn’t have anything remarkable.
    She was just picking over the vegetables and taking out anything which looked past its best when her father came