ason Solomon was berating a stagehand when he saw Sam and McCord heading swiftly down the aisle toward him, and he turned his ire on them. "What the hell is the matter with you people?" he burst out, stalking toward the front of the stage. "Haven't you ever heard of making an appointment? It's polite, it's—"

"Where is Jane Sebring?" McCord interrupted sharply.

"How the hell would I know? She's probably at home."

"She's not at home. We just came from there. What time does she usually get here?"

"About now, usually, but I fired her this morning. God, what a day this is turning out to be! I've got sound problems and a curtain going up in an hour and a half."

"Shut up and listen," McCord snapped. "Where's Sebring's dressing room?"

"This way—" Solomon said, startled and resentful.

Sebring's things were still in her dressing room, but she wasn't there. "Was she upset when you fired her?" Sam asked. "I mean, did she expect it or did it surprise her?"

" 'Upset'?" Jason repeated sarcastically. "She was demented. That is one lunatic woman," he added, walking toward a tiny office at the end of the hall with Sam and McCord right beside him.

"Why did you fire her?" Sam persisted. "She had good reviews."

"I fired her because Leigh Kendall wouldn't appear on the same stage with her, and who can blame Leigh for that?"

"Did Jane Sebring know that was why you were firing her?" McCord asked impatiently.

"Yes, of course. I explained the situation to her agent on the phone this morning when I started negotiating the buyout on her contract. The guy's a vulture; he—"

"If you fired her through her agent," Sam interrupted, "how do you know she was 'demented' about it?"

"Because she showed up here today, right after Leigh left to go to Valente's office and then home for a rest." Solomon stopped in front of his desk and turned to face them as he added, "I told Jane to clear her stuff out of Leigh's dressing room, but she left everything and ran out of here. The woman's crazy."

"What time was that?" McCord asked.

"What the hell difference does—" Solomon broke off and backed around his desk as McCord took one long step toward him. "Between three and four, I think."

"Get Leigh Kendall on the phone," McCord snapped. "Call her at whatever number you use to reach her."

"Can't you people just wait here until—"

McCord leaned across his desk, grabbed the telephone, and shoved it toward him. "Call her!"

There was no answer at the first number Solomon called, so he tried two others. "That's odd," he said worriedly as he hung up. "No one is answering Leigh's home phones, and she didn't answer her cell phone either."

"Did she happen to give you a cell phone number for Valente today?"

"Yes. How did you—"

"What is it?"

Solomon searched through papers scattered on the top of his desk, and found what he was looking for. "Leigh said I wasn't to give this number to anyone—" he began; then he looked at McCord's ominous expression and rattled off the number so Sam could write it down. "Where are you going?" he called, following both detectives as they ran down the hall. "Leigh is probably with Valente. They're in love, you know—"