Smash Cutby Sandra Brown
When millionaire Paul Wheeler is murdered, his family retains renowned lawyer Derek Mitchell to defend the victim’s nephew Creighton—although the police have not/i>
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown comes this thrilling novel full of jarring, cinematic twists and breathless suspense that will have you on the edge of your seat.
When millionaire Paul Wheeler is murdered, his family retains renowned lawyer Derek Mitchell to defend the victim’s nephew Creighton—although the police have not charged the young man with the crime. Wheeler’s mistress Julie Rutledge, who is also a suspect, believes that Creighton is the killer despite his rock-solid alibi, and she’ll do almost anything in her quest to prove his guilt—even ruin Derek’s career. But as Derek learns of Creighton’s darker side, especially his bizarre fascination with movie murders, the more he agrees with Julie’s suspicion. The clock ticks down to a shocking ending as Derek and Julie join forces to find the truth. Has Creighton begun re-enacting cinema’s goriest scenes and, if so, who will be his unwilling co-stars? They won’t know until the final Smash Cut.
"Brown delivers more than a few thrills and surprises in this taut, satisfying page-turner." Booklist
"Packed with surprises and the kind of propulsive plot for which Brown (Smoke Screen, 2008, etc.) is justly famous, this effort will not disappoint her readers." Kirkus
"Most crime thrillers come from male authors. But with Smash Cut, Sandra Brown shows that she's right up with the best of the boys.... [Brown's] dialogue snaps, crackles and pops, and her characters rise above cliché. Smash Cut deserves to be this summer's blockbuster thriller." St. Louis Post-Dispatch
- Gale Group
- Publication date:
- Edition description:
- Large Print
- Product dimensions:
- 5.50(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.20(d)
Read an Excerpt
CREIGHTON WHEELER STORMED ACROSS THE bluestone terrace, whipping off his sun visor and making a swipe at the sweat streaming down his face, then without breaking stride, angrily tossed the damp towel and visor onto a chaise. “This better be damn important. I was about to break his serve.”
The housekeeper who’d summoned him from the tennis court was unfazed by his temper. “Don’t you take that tone with me. It’s your daddy wants to see you.”
Her name was Ruby. Creighton didn’t know her last name and had never bothered to ask, although she’d been in the family’s employ since before he was born. Any time he got out of sorts with her, she reminded him that she’d wiped his butt and his nose, that both had been nasty, and that she hadn’t enjoyed doing either. It rankled to think of her being that familiar with his person, even when he was a baby.
He brushed past her three-hundred-pound bulk and crossed the industrial-size kitchen to one of several refrigerators, yanking open the door.
“Right now, he said.”
Ignoring her, Creighton got a can of Coke from the Sub-Zero, ripped off the tab, and took a long drink. He rolled the cold can across his forehead. “Take one of these out to Scott.”
“Your tennis coach’s legs ain’t broke.” She turned back to the counter and slapped her large hand on the hunk of beef she was preparing to go into the roasting pan.
Something ought to be done about her sass, Creighton thought as he pushed through the swinging door and made his way toward the front of the house, where his father had a study. The door was ajar. He paused outside it, then knocked once on the doorjamb with his Coke can, nudged the door open, and strolled in, twirling the tennis racquet against his shoulder. He looked every inch the aristocrat called away from a session of healthy exercise. It was a role he was perfectly suited to play.
Doug Wheeler was seated behind his desk, which was presidential in proportion but much more pretentious than anything inside the Oval Office. The desk was flanked by mahogany flagpoles, one for the Georgia state flag, the other for Old Glory. Ancestors glared from oil portraits hanging on opposite walls, which were paneled in stained cypress meant to last till the Second Coming.
“Scott’s time is money, and the clock is ticking,” Creighton said.
“I’m afraid this can’t wait. Please sit down.”
Creighton took a seat in one of the cordovan leather chairs facing his father’s desk and propped his tennis racquet against it. “I didn’t know you were here. Weren’t you scheduled to play golf this afternoon?” He leaned forward and set his Coke can on the polished surface of the desk.
Frowning, Doug placed a coaster beneath the can so it wouldn’t leave a moisture ring. “I dropped by here to change before going to the club,” he said. “But something urgent—”
“Don’t tell me,” Creighton interrupted. “The paper clip audit exposed an embezzlement. Damn those sneaky secretaries.”
“Paul is dead.”
Creighton’s heart gave a bump. His smile collapsed. “What?”
Doug cleared his throat. “Your uncle was shot and killed in the Hotel Moultrie about an hour ago.”
Creighton continued to stare at him, then finally released his breath. “Well, in the immortal words of Forrest Gump. Actually his mother. ‘Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.’ ”
His father lurched to his feet. “Is that all you can say?”
“I think that says it fairly well.”
Creighton had never seen his father cry. He wasn’t crying now, but his eyes looked suspiciously moist and he was swallowing too often and too hard. In an attempt to hide the emotion about to overwhelm him, he stepped from behind his desk and moved to the wide window. He looked out over the grounds of the estate, where Mexican laborers were hand-picking weeds from colorful beds of impatiens and caladiums.
Quietly Creighton asked, “Did I hear you correctly, Father? Uncle Paul was shot?”
“In the forehead. Almost point-blank range. During an apparent holdup.”
“A holdup? Like a robbery? At the Moultrie?”
“As unheard of as that seems.”
Doug ran a hand through his hair, which was thick and gray like that of his brother—now late brother—who had been his senior by only eleven months. He and Paul went to the same barber and used the same tailor. Of almost identical height and weight, they were often mistaken for each other from the back. Their sibling relationship had been almost as close as that of twins.
“I don’t know any details,” Doug continued. “Julie was almost too distraught to speak.”
“She was notified first?”
“Actually, she was with him when it happened.”
“At the Hotel Moultrie. During the middle of a weekday.”
Doug came around and gave his son a hard look. “She was almost hysterical. According to the policeman. Detective actually. He took the phone from her when she could no longer speak. He told me that she had insisted on calling and telling me herself. But she managed to get out only a few incoherent words before she began crying to the point that I could no longer understand her.” He paused to clear his throat.
“The detective, Sanford I think he said his name was, seemed decent enough. He extended his condolences and told me I could come to the morgue if I . . . if I wanted to see Paul’s body. There’ll be an autopsy, of course.”
Creighton looked away. “Christ.”
“Yes,” Doug said on a weighty sigh. “I can’t come to terms with it either.”
“Did they catch the guy?”
“Where in the hotel?”
“The detective didn’t say.”
“One of the shops?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who would rob—”
“I don’t know,” Doug snapped.
A taut silence followed. Doug’s shoulders settled heavily on his tall frame. “I’m sorry, Creighton. I’m . . . not myself.”
“Understandably. It’s astonishing.”
Doug massaged his forehead. “The detective said he would give me a full account when I get there.” He glanced at the open door but made no move toward it, clearly reluctant to leave on that errand.
“What about Mother? Has she been told?”
“She was here when Julie called. Naturally she’s upset, but there are arrangements that must be made. She’s upstairs making preliminary calls.” Doug went to the bar and poured himself a shot of bourbon. “Want one?”
“No thank you.”
Doug tossed back the drink and picked up the decanter again. “As difficult as this tragedy is to absorb, there are practical matters that must be addressed.”
Creighton braced himself. He disdained anything with the word practical attached to it.
“Tomorrow morning, I want you to go to the offices and make a personal statement to our personnel.”
Inwardly Creighton groaned. He wanted nothing to do with their personnel, which amounted to several hundred people, each of whom held his uncle Paul in the highest esteem while most demonstrated nothing but contempt for him whenever he graced the corporate headquarters with his presence, which was as seldom as possible.
Wheeler Enterprises manufactured and sold building materials of some kind. Whoopee. Fascinating.
His father looked over his shoulder at him. Obviously a response was expected.
“Of course. What should I say?”
“I’ll write something out tonight. I’ll call for a companywide assembly in the auditorium on the third floor at ten o’clock. Deliver your statement, then perhaps a minute of silence should be observed.”
Creighton nodded solemnly. “Most appropriate.”
Doug downed the second drink, then decisively set the empty tumbler on the bar. “You may be required to take up some of the slack while we’re sorting through all this.”
“All of what?”
“The funeral, for starters.”
“Oh, of course. That’ll be an event.”
“No doubt,” Doug said with a sigh. “I’ll keep it as dignified as possible, but your uncle was involved in—”
“Bloody everything. He was the undeclared king of Atlanta.”
Doug pressed on. “Yes, and now the king is dead. To complicate matters, his death was a homicide.” Thinking about the brutality of it, he winced and dragged his hand down his face. “Jesus.” He glanced toward the bar as though considering pouring one more shot of Kentucky’s finest, but didn’t. “The police will need our full cooperation.”
“What can we do? We weren’t witnesses.”
“But Paul’s killer must be apprehended. You will cooperate and do so willingly. Do we have an understanding?”
“Of course, Father.” Creighton hesitated, then said, “Although I hope you’ll act as the family’s official spokesperson. The media will flock to us like vultures to carrion.”
Doug gave a brusque nod. “I’ll see to it that you and your mother are sheltered. Although I’m compelled to make the funeral a public observance, I’ll insist on it being as low-key as possible.
“We must set an example to our employees, and keep the company running smoothly, which is what Paul would want us to do. To that end, I want you to be prepared. I’ve left some materials in your room. You should review them tonight, bring yourself up to date on new products, where we rank in the market, our projections for next year.”
“All right.” As if.
His father seemed to read his mind. He gave him the full-on, American eagle, hard-ass treatment. “It’s the least you can do, Creighton. You’re almost thirty years old. I’ve been remiss and take partial responsibility for your lack of interest in the company. I should have given you more responsibility, involved you more in the expansion of the business. Paul . . .” He stumbled over the name. “Paul encouraged me to. Instead, I’ve spoiled you. No more. It’s time you stepped up to the plate. Now that Paul’s gone, you’ll take over when I retire.”
Who was he kidding? Himself maybe, but certainly not Creighton. His father was delusional if he thought Creighton planned on jumping into the corporate cauldron. He knew nothing about the business or management thereof, and didn’t want to know. All he wanted out of the family business was revenue. He loved his life exactly as it was and had no intention whatsoever of changing it by taking on responsibilities that any yes-man could do.
But now wasn’t the time to replay the scene he and his father had played a thousand times before, when his shortcomings and misplaced priorities were paraded for his review, when he was reminded of duty and what it meant to be a grownup, a man, a Wheeler. Bullshit like that.
Changing subjects, he asked, “Has it made the news yet?”
“If not yet, it will soon.” Doug moved to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper, passing it to Creighton. “Would you please call these people and notify them? They deserve to be told by a member of the family, rather than hearing it on the news.”
Creighton scanned the typewritten list, recognizing most of the names as personal friends of his uncle Paul, stockholders in Wheeler Enterprises, city and state officials, other prominent businessmen.
“And would you also break the news to Ruby?” Doug asked. “She knows something’s up, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her, especially considering the horrible circumstances. You know how much she loved and admired Paul.”
“Yes, I’ll do that.” And I’ll enjoy it, Creighton thought. That was one way to get back at her for sassing him. “Would you like me to go to the morgue with you?”
“Thank you, but no,” Doug said. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
“Good. I can’t think of anything worse.” Creighton pretended to ponder it a moment, then shuddered. “Maybe a Carnival cruise.”
Meet the Author
Sandra Brown is the author of sixty-seven New York Times bestsellers, including Mean Streak, Deadline, Low Pressure, and Smoke Screen. Brown began her writing career in 1981 and since then has published over seventy novels, most of which remain in print. Sandra and her husband, Michael Brown, live in Arlington, Texas.
- Arlington, TX
- Date of Birth:
- March 12, 1948
- Place of Birth:
- Waco, Texas
- Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters, Texas Christian University, 2008
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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A wonderful new Sandra Brown extravaganza, full of suspense, twists and turns,and romance...Paul Wheeler killed in a cops and robber situation? A disguised "hit"? Who dun it? Family honor questionable...Movie making fantasy come true?...Hang on to your senses! You're in for another exciting ride, thanks to Sandra Brown's creative genius!! Worth your time!!...Also love Barbara Taylor Bradford, Lisa Scottoline, Diana Gabaldon....and a new discovery, Linda Masemore Pirrung, author of EXPLOSION IN PARIS...Talk about senses....This one will keep your blood cooking!
Sandra Brown's ability to spark your imagination with descriptive language made this audio which was read by Victor Slezak very entertaining. The characters in the story were very interesting.
First of all, Victor Sleazac is the BEST reader of Sandra Brown's books. His husky voice adds a certain *pop* to keep you listening. His narration style perfectly compliments the storyline. I have read/listened to every Sandra Brown mystery novel (not so much the early romance stuff). I have never been disappointed. I love the usual twist that you KNOW is going to be there, you just dont know WHAT it is going to be. This novel's twist was more *!WOW!* than usual.
When wealthy Paul Wheeler is murdered in an Atlanta hotel, the police assume a robbery has gone bad. His close friend, gallery owner Julie Rutledge, believes otherwise as she tries to convince the police that Paul's nephew Creighton ordered the hit. Creighton's father asks criminal lawyer Derek Mitchell to represent his son, but the attorney refuses because he is going with Julie to Paris. Outraged by Derek's rejection, Creighton goes after his loved ones. He stalks Julie and Derek's dog Maggie. He plans to kill the girlfriend of his cowardly former partner Billy Duke as a punishment for his backing out of the murder scheme. Creighton plots to stage a triumphant final scene straight out of a classic Hitchcock movie like Frenzy that will leave Billy, Julie and Derek joining his Uncle Paul. This is a super thriller that is fast-paced with rapid changing scenes that add tension as the audience increasingly and avidly anticipates High Noon. The cast is powerful especially the beleaguered Derek and Julie, but SMASH CUT is owned by Creighton who we meet when a servant Rose interrupts his tennis game. With terrific twists especially a late one and homage to great mystery films, fans will enjoy this cat and mouse tale as Creighton worships death scenes from the classics. Harriet Klausner
I had a hard time getting into this book and stopped when I got to one horrible line. I almost threw the book. I may never read one of her books again.
Sandra Brown is one of the few authors who can combine action, thriller, suspense, murder, crime, and romance, and can do it marvelously. I've developed an insatiable taste for her books, reading them as soon as they come out and impatiently waiting for more. Brown has superb talent in making the readers connect with her characters, making them so real that I mourn their end when I finish each book. Her writing, wording, and style are always beyond five stars. While "Smash Cut" was somewhat suspenseful with a nice little twist in the end, I felt this was not one of her best. The constant movie references were annoying and, for lack of a better work, corny. Julie's motive for sleeping with Derek in the beginning was incredibly outlandish and immediately made me dislike her. It seems as though Julie was this evil character in the beginning, with her remark to Derek, "You've been had", but then completely does a 180 and is now someone loved and respectable. I found it incredibly hard to sympathize with her and like her. Creighton seemed too fake of a person and rather childish with copying movie scenes and spitting out movie quotes. There was a lack of passion between Derek and Julie, and passion is supposed to be Brown's writing specialty. When I put this book down in the end, it reminded me of the movie "Scream", although I felt "Scream" was actually a little better than this book. Her plot was just lacking the usual sophistication I have come to expect from her novels.
This is my first Sandra Brown novel and it will not be my last. It is a quick read with a little bit of everything you want out of a good book, love, sex, scare, family affairs and a comical detective! Enjoy!
This is a very, very good book, I could not put it down.
I love Sandra Brown's books. Being a film buff too this book was a treat. Definitely kept my interest. Found the plot intriguing and characters well developed. Cannot wait on her next offering!!!
I have read every single Sandra Brown book. This one is fast paced, but not very romantic. I seem to be reading more books like this these days. Good story line, little romance and angst. I miss the old Sandra Brown who would leave you craving for more when you were finished. I love a book with sexual tension and a great mystery. "Smash Cut" almost gets there...
I love her books and there is always a surprise at the end that you do no expect.
This is my favorite Sandra Brown book so far! I have read 6 so far and will be working mt way down the list.
Sandra Brown exercises your imagination and stimulates your curiosity. As with any novel there will be areas of boredom but don't let that fool you as just as you relax, something else happens just as fast. Always on the edge of your seat.
Although this book started kind of slow for me, the story picks up and keeps you spellbound. Sandra Brown has always been able to have romance, intrigue, and crazy people in her plots to keep you on the edge of your seat. Its an excellent book.
I have always liked S. Brown's books. This one was very good...kept my interest throughout.