"Not a thing," Clay answered, suddenly grim. "If anyone knows where she is, they're not talking."
Spring lifted her eyes from his unusual black-and-white ensemble to note that he looked tired. Tired and rather despondent. She was startled to find herself wanting to cheer him up. She missed his easy smile. "Can't you file a missing-persons report on her?" she asked curiously.
"Her mother did that last week. Thelma's run away before, though, and there are so many other missing-persons reports filed each week that the cops tend to give them low priority unless they have a real lead. I'm not too crazy about having the cops haul a kid back home, anyway, unless there is no other alternative."
"Can I get you something to drink, Clay?" Derek asked.
"No, thanks, Derek. I just wanted to tell Summer that I haven't been able to find Thelma."
Derek lifted one eyebrow but refrained from pointing out that Clay hadn't needed to drive into Sausalito when a telephone call would have sufficed. Spring frowned, well aware of that herself.
"In that case," Derek asked, "would you like to join us for dinner? We're going out."
Sprawled in the easy chair Summer had abandoned, Clay nudged the pile of packages on the floor before him with one black-and-white-clad foot. "Sure you can afford that? Or were all these purchases made with Arkansas money?" he teased, smiling at Spring.
"I bought my share," Spring admitted with a shy attempt at friendliness. She was very much aware that Clay had not yet accepted or declined Derek's invitation to join them for dinner. She wasn't sure which option she preferred him to take. Suddenly and inexplicably nervous, she stood and began to gather the much-discussed packages. "I suppose I should start freshening up for dinner."
"Let me help you with those," Clay volunteered immediately, jumping to his feet.
"Oh, that's not—"
But he'd already grabbed an armload and was headed for the hallway that led to the guest room. Spring pointedly avoided Derek's amused gaze as she followed Clay.
"Where do you want these?"
"Just throw them on the bed," she replied, walking past him to do so with hers.
He grinned tantalizingly and muttered something that she thought sounded vaguely like, "I'd like to throw you on the bed," but prudence kept her from asking him to repeat himself.
Instead, she waited until he'd unloaded his arms, then commented, "You look tired. Have you been searching for Thelma all day?"
"And most of last night," he admitted, running his fingers through his luxurious hair, his grin fading.
"Didn't you get any sleep at all?"
"About five hours. Why? Are you concerned?" he asked with interest.
She shrugged, toying with a button on her lavender cotton shirt to avoid looking at him.
When it was obvious that Spring wasn't going to answer his question, Clay shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his slightly wrinkled black slacks and flicked a glance around the room. "Are you enjoying your visit with your sister?"
"Yes."
"Did you have a good time on your shopping spree?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to have an affair with me?"
Spring almost choked. "No," she managed at last, hoping she looked more sincere than she felt.
"Do you like going to plays?"
The man was certifiable. Deciding that the course of least resistance was to humor him, Spring nodded slowly. "Yes."
"I have tickets for an opening Monday night. Will you go with me?"
"I, uh—"