Changed

7

The cops were slow to arrive. Neville only wanted to go home. He felt like hitting that snot-nose kid who recognized him. Neville wanted to take the youth's brownie camera and toss it into the water with Perry Cortiss.

It was Perry, alright. Neville was certain.

Perry Cortiss. Neville's nemesis in so many of those silent films.

They made a great onscreen pair. Chemistry, the papers called it. As if two men could have chemistry. What b.s.

Neville had 'IT.'

Had IT in spades.

Neville chewed a fingernail into the quick.

"Aw . . ." he started to curse.

The youth was still hanging around.

"Give you twenty for that camera and film," Neville said.

The young teen's eyes popped with surprise.

"Really?"

"Sure," Neville said, grabbing his wallet from the car and handing the boy the money.

"Gee," the lad said, handing the star the box camera. "Thanks, Mr. Hillyard."

Neville winced. He glanced around. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to anything but the body lying prone on the dock. Someone had retrieved a white table cloth from the pavilion and spread it over the corpse.

"That's just like you, Perry," Neville muttered. "My only day off in a month of Sundays, and you hog the spotlight."

It sounded petty, Neville knew. But Neville was the star. At least for now.

Neville felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. The fact that Perry's rise in Hollywood precipitated Neville's sudden slip in popularity would be something the papers would emphasize. What would the studio say?

Of all people. Why did it have to be Perry?

Neville looked around. He had the camera with those blasted pictures. Nothing to say he'd been the one to discover the body. If pressed, he'd deny ever being here.

Neville got into his car and drove away.

Perry Cortiss wasn't worth the ink the papers would waste on the story.

As he maneuvered the big auto down the manicured drive and onto the main road, Neville could only hope that this piece of bad luck was not the final nail in his coffin.