The Last One to Fall

by Gabriella Lepore

Genres: YA Mysteries & Thrillers

Synopsis

Six friends. Five suspects. One murder.

Savana Caruso and Jesse Melo have known each other since they were kids, so when Jesse texts Savana in the middle of the night and asks her to meet him at Cray’s Warehouse, she doesn’t hesitate. But before Savana can find Jesse, she bears witness to a horrifying murder, standing helpless on the ground as a mysterious figure is pushed out of the fourth floor of the warehouse. 

Six teens were there that night, and five of them are now potential suspects. With the police circling, Savana knows what will happen if the wrong person is charged, particularly once she starts getting threatening anonymous text messages.

As she attempts to uncover the truth, Savana learns that everyone is keeping secrets—and someone is willing to do whatever it takes to keep those secrets from coming to light.

Release date: May 9, 2023

Publisher: Inkyard Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

JESSE:

Come to Cray’s Warehouse tonight.

SAVANA:

What? Why?

JESSE:

Just come. I need your help.

 

SAVANAFriday, November 4

I pace across the paved square with my arms wrapped around myself. A cold wind is rolling in from the ocean and whipping at my hair.

The marina is bathed in moonlight, and streetlamps line the water’s edge, bending long shadows through the quay. Wooden moorings rise from the ocean, with small yachts and fishing boats attached and moving with the tide. Everything is quiet, apart from the sloshing of water and clinking of buoys. It’s too quiet. Too dark.

I shouldn’t be here.

Ahead, Cray’s Warehouse is tucked away from the rest of the dock. It stands stoically in a sliver of pale white. The boarded-up windows and graffitied walls give away its years of abandonment. Cray’s used to be the place where all the boating equipment was stored, but an oil fire nearly burned the whole building to the ground a couple of years ago. Since then, it’s been deserted.

A bunch of my senior classmates claimed it as a party spot over the summer break, and for a hot minute, it was the place to be. But that was back when the nights were balmy and dusky pink well into the evening. Winter is creeping closer now, and no one wants to brave the cold bite of the ocean air.

I keep walking toward the warehouse, constantly scanning the darkest corners of the marina for Jesse Melo. I don’t know why he texted me, I don’t know why he needs my help, and I don’t know why I care.

The sudden sound of shattering glass ruptures the night and stops me in my tracks. My eyes dart to the warehouse just as a silhouette falls from a window a few stories up, arms slicing and clawing through the air.

An exhale escapes me. On instinct, I squeeze my eyes shut.

But I still hear the thump.

AUDIO FILE_MP3

Title: Case_HPD0149_911 Call

OPERATOR: 911. What’s your emergency?

CALLER: I need an ambulance. My friend has fallen from a window.

OPERATOR: Okay, stay calm. Are they conscious?

CALLER: No. The window was high. Four floors up or something.

OPERATOR: What’s the location? I’ll send it to Dispatch right away.

CALLER: Cray’s Warehouse. At the port.

OPERATOR: Okay. Stay on the line, please, miss. Try to take slow breaths.

CALLER: Yes, ma’am. I’m trying.

OPERATOR: Can I take your name?

CALLER: Savana Caruso.

OPERATOR: Thank you, Savana. Just keep taking those slow breaths. Help is on its way.

SAVANASaturday, November 5

A draft is leaking beneath the police station door. It feels arctic in here.

I shift in my hard seat and gaze around the sparse waiting room. The walls are painted white, with only a few posters promoting anti-crime ad campaigns and one corkboard cluttered with flyers. I’ve never been in this room before. The realization makes my stomach knot.

Mom reaches out and touches my hand, and I flinch.

“Is there anything you need, Savana?” she says. “Some water, or something to eat?”

I clench my chattering teeth and shake my head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile, then turns toward the reception desk. “Excuse me.” Her voice cuts through the stillness.

The guy at the desk looks up. His face is distorted behind the glass partition that separates him from the rest of the room. From us.

“How much longer are we going to be here?” Mom asks. “My daughter hasn’t slept all night. She’s traumatized, and I need to take her home.”

I can see it brewing. She’s gearing up for full-on mama-bear mode, ready to grab her purse and bust us out of here. There are dark circles beneath her eyes from her own lack of sleep, and her golden-brown curls—a shade lighter than mine—look out of control.

I don’t think either of us has stopped reeling since my panicked call from the marina last night.

“Mom,” I whisper, tugging at her woolen sleeve, “it’s fine. I’m fine. They just need to ask me a couple of questions. I don’t mind waiting.”

I’m lying. Nothing about this is fine. It’s the opposite of fine.

I ball my hands so tightly that my nails dig into my palms. Then I do my best to forget that I saw somebody die last night.

And I do my best to pretend that it has nothing to do with me.

PART ONE

SAVANASaturday, July 30

There’s a tap-tap on the door that leads outside from my ground-floor bedroom.

“Just a second!” I call, digging through a pile of clothes in search of my phone.

My room is a wood-floored sunroom just off the kitchen and living area. French doors open out onto the back deck, framing a clear view of the ocean. When Mom and I first moved here, it took me forever to convince her to let me claim this room—especially because it has a separate entrance from the veranda, leading out to the rugged stretch of coastline backing the house. But all the months of bargaining and negotiating paid off.

I pull back the long white drapes and twist the lock.

Corinne Danes presses her face to the door while she waits, drumming her fingers on the pane. Her glossy black hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and her silver hoop earrings clink against the glass.

I open the door, and she marches in.

“Okay,” she breathes, clasping her hands together, “here’s the cover story. I told my parents I’d be helping you with your project at your place.” She makes air quotes around the words your place. “My mom’s giving me until eleven thirty, half an hour past curfew.”

I nod along with her. “An extension, good work. And not a total lie. You are kind of helping me.”

“Exactly,” Corinne says, raising an index finger. “Which gives me precisely three hours and twenty-two minutes to get to Cray’s, party, and get home.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Party?”

She waves her hand. “Research. Same thing.”

Word of the party at the abandoned warehouse in the port spread through our grade like wildfire. Under normal circumstances, an illegal party organized by Raf Lombardi would be a flat-out no from me, but tonight I’m on a mission to observe social hierarchies and the perceptions of personas for an investigative-journalism scholarship I’m applying to; and if that means I’ve got to join the high school masses by mindlessly partying at a prohibited warehouse, then so be it. Plus, Corinne’s been on my case for months about the fact that I almost never go out, so of course she pounced on an opportunity to drag me out of my comfort zone. Senior year, and all that.

“All right, move it, lady,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Time is precious.”

“Okay. I’m ready.” I steal one last glance at the mirror. It took a couple of online tutorials, but I think I’ve done a reasonably good job at covering my freckles with makeup and defrizzing my unruly light brown hair. I comb my fingers through the strands one last time before Corinne swings the door open and ushers me out into the balmy night.

The gentle shush of the ocean accompanies our footsteps as we skirt around my house to the driveway. My ancient lime-green Bug is parked out front, blushed by the streetlamps lining the pavement.

I slide into the driver’s side, and Corinne takes her spot in the passenger seat.

“What’s your curfew?” she asks, clicking her seat belt into place.

“My mom’s working tonight. She gets home at around midnight.”

Mom works shifts downtown at Miller’s Diner, which I guess saves me having to construct elaborate sneak-out plans. Not that I didn’t tell her about tonight, because I did. Okay, so I may have omitted a few minor details, like where the party would be exactly. The port is hardly the most wholesome place for her seventeen-year-old daughter to spend an evening, so I decided to forgo that information. But I told her I’d be at a party with Corinne, that I’d have my cell switched on and fully charged, and that I’d be home before her shift ended—to which she nodded distractedly and told me to have fun.

While Corinne skips through tracks on my playlist, I cruise along the quiet streets of Havelock, following the road that hugs the coastline. The promenade is decorated with string lights, and the salty evening breeze streams through the open windows and ripples my hair. Within m

inutes we’re close enough to hear the clunk of moored boats and slap of water hitting the sheer seawall in the port. Anyone who might work here during the day has moved on now. The port’s too dark and desolate for people to bother hanging around after sunset. Unless they have reason to.

I pull into the marina parking lot. There are already way more cars here than there usually are at this time of night.

“I can’t believe those guys have actually pulled this off,” Corinne comments as I steer into a free space and cut the engine.

Those guys being Raf Lombardi, Jesse Melo, Owen Keaton, Freddie Bass, and Tara Kowalski.

Jesse and Raf have been a duo since middle school, but this new fivesome only formed a couple of months back. As far as I can remember, Freddie and Owen started hanging out with Jesse and Raf sometime during sophomore year, when Owen’s older brother started dating Raf’s sister. Flash forward to this year, when Tara set her sights on Raf, and bam, their troop of five was formed. They claimed a cafeteria table, cut classes together, and made sure that the entire school knew that they were the elites. I’ve been around on several occasions where Tara has casually relayed stories of wild parties and misadventures to the girls in our grade who so desperately want to be part of her newly formed squad. In response to their requests for an invite, Tara tilts her chin and says, “Maybe,” and, “Let me talk to the guys,” but the way she smiles apologetically makes me think that she has zero intention of recruiting any new member to her crew.

Jesse Melo is the exception—from my standpoint, at least. He and his family live in the house next door to ours, and over the four years that I’ve been in the neighborhood, Jesse and I have whiled away many hours hanging out on our stoops, working our way through pints of ice cream, and talking about anything that comes to mind. Somewhere between middle school and now, Jesse went from being that boy from school to being my friend. My friend, who I also happen to have the tiniest crush on.

“Okay, let’s do this.” In the low-lit car, Corinne rests her hand on the internal door handle and turns toward me. “We’re going to get busted, for sure,” she says. But she still pulls the handle and steps out of the Bug.

I follow her lead. “All in the name of research,” I whisper, closing the driver’s-side door with a soft thump.

She smooths her fingers over her sleek ponytail, flattening any strands that have been stirred by the ocean breeze. “Yeah,” she says. “That, and the fact that if we don’t show, we’ll probably be the only people in our grade to miss this.” She grins at me, her perfectly straight teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “What does it feel like to be one of the sheep for once, Savana?”

I crinkle my nose. “Research.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “Sheep. But I’m into it.”

She threads her arm through mine and our shoes tap on beat as we stride covertly toward the warehouse, moths flying toward the flame. Through pools of lamplight, we navigate a path to the entrance of the boarded-up building.

After a cursory backward glance, I tug on the solid iron door, and it scrapes the concrete

morosely. Suddenly, I can hear voices, music, laughter. Ghostly echoes inside the dim cavernous building. There are people everywhere and the air already smells like smoke and beer. In the dull light, I notice some familiar faces and some people I’d swear I’ve never seen before.

A flicker of a smile passes over Corinne’s scarlet-glossed lips. “No turning back now.”

I heave a sigh in response.

“I can’t believe Raf has pulled this off,” she says again as we venture deeper into the chasm, weaving our way through the crowd. “He should be the subject of your project.” Her voice is stolen by the tremors of the sound system.

I frown at her. “What do you mean?”

She plays with the end of her ponytail. “Raf. He’s basically the worst person ever, but everyone still kisses his ass. I mean, look at this.” She gestures around the packed warehouse. “When Raf says there’s a party, there’s a party. If that isn’t social deception at its finest, I don’t know what is.”

Corinne’s arm slips from mine as she skips toward some of the drama-club crowd. I follow closely behind, chewing over her observation.

We close in on the drama group, and Corinne grabs hold of one of the guys’ hands—Brett—and squeals with excitement. A few of the others swarm together to chatter, and one of the girls squeezes my arm. I notch up my smile to match their enthusiasm, but from where I’m standing, their voices are lost in the thump of the speakers. Bassy music bounces off the walls with that “hall of mirrors” trickery, everywhere and nowhere, always hiding its true origins.

My gaze travels across the cavernous ground floor.

And I see them.

Jesse, Raf, Owen, Freddie, and Tara. They’re gathered around a metal fire drum, sitting on stacked crates and plywood, and all throttling beer bottles. Raf’s obnoxiously muscular and sunburned arm is slung over Tara’s bronzed shoulders, pinning down her long blond hair. Freddie is next to them, tall and lean, with flawless brown skin and a quick smile that inevitably makes girls and guys fall in love with him. On the other side of the fire drum, Jesse’s broad shoulders are hunched and his ball cap is pulled low, and Owen’s wide smile seems fixed in place, his bright white teeth in stark contrast to his deep tan, as he listens intently to the conversation among the group.

Somehow, their voices seem louder than everyone else’s—or maybe it’s just to me.

I watch them for a moment longer, noticing the way Owen is peeling the label on his beer bottle, his thumb constantly moving. The way Raf’s arm is hooked around Tara, weighing down on her slim shoulders. Or how Freddie’s eyes keep going to Jesse, as though they’re having their own silent conversation that no one else can hear.

All of a sudden, Raf’s stare lands on me, and I flinch. Maybe it’s because his chiseled face looks hollow and eerie in the low light. Or maybe it’s just the awareness that he doesn’t like me and I don’t like him.

I turn away, shifting my attention back to Corinne and the others.

“Who even knew there was a way to unlock this place,” Corinne says above the music. Her eyes sparkle as she looks between Brett and me. “This space would be perfect for a production, right?”

“Totally,” Brett agrees.

A hand brushes my back, and I stiffen.

“Sorry.” A boy from my math class sidles past me as he makes his way across the dimly lit room.

On reflex, my attention wanders back to Raf and the others. They’re laughing now, and whatever tension there might have been seems to have eased. But I can’t shake the feeling that lingers in the pit of my stomach. The feeling that something bad is about to go down.

Jesse’s gaze strays across the room and settles on me. His lips twitch with a small smile.

I summon a smile back, then break eye contact and pretend to be engrossed in whatever it is that Brett is saying.

---

I’ve wanted to study journalism since as far back as I can remember. For my project I had this idea to look at how people’s behaviors and images change in social settings. So as Corinne and I blend with our friends, I grab my drink and I watch people. I watch how my classmates pose for pictures, taking and retaking the photo until they find the perfect angle. I watch how people swarm together, mostly staying in their familiar circles, but occasionally daring to stray farther afield. Everyone’s different tonight—me included. We’re on new ground, freed from the confines of school, and the energy is super high.

It’s kind of fun, actually. I’m starting to think I should do this more often, even if my voice is shot from yelling over the noise.

By eleven thirty, groups have started to leave, but the warehouse is still alive with muffled sounds, echoing voices, and bleary-eyed faces.

Corinne and I slip out through the iron door and begin across the marina, stepping quickly. When we reach the parking lot, though, I stop in my tracks. A beastly 4x4 is parked in front of my car, blocking me in.

“Perfect,” I say, gesturing to the chrome Jeep. “That’s Raf’s car.”

Corinne groans. “Why would he park like that? Wasn’t he already here when we arrived? He must have moved it.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Probably deliberately, knowing Raf.” Corinne rolls her eyes, and I hand her my keys. “Wait here,” I tell her. “I’ll be right back.”

The Bug unlocks with a cheery beep and Corinne slides into the passenger seat as I head back to the warehouse.

Inside, the music has softened and mellowed. It isn’t hard to find Raf. The five have been based in their chosen spot for most of the evening, closing everyone else out. At least, that’s how it’s seemed from the outside.

I take a deep breath an

d make my way over to them.

Jesse looks at me, and he smiles. He tilts the peak of his ball cap up, trapping locks of dark brown hair beneath it.

“Hey, Savana,” he says. “What’s up?” His voice always sounds a little husky, like he’s just woken up or something.

“Hey.” Raf, too, fixes his stare on me, although his isn’t quite so welcoming. Nothing about Raf is particularly welcoming, in my opinion. He and Jesse are around the same height, six foot something and broad shouldered, but where Jesse looks lean and athletic, Raf’s entire image screams gym junkie. His arms are bulging beneath his fitted T-shirt, and the collar looks strained around his neck. An unlit cigarette is balanced between his lips, and he slowly moves it up and down as he watches me approach.

Creep.

“Raf.” I stand before him and level his stare. “Could you move your car, please? You’re blocking me in.”

The cigarette moves up and down again. “Can’t,” he says through the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been drinking. I’m intoxicated.” I hear the slur in his voice, and I see the smirk on his face.

Freddie and Owen swap a glance, and Tara side-eyes me as she slides onto Raf’s lap. The move is a clear marking of territory, as if she genuinely thinks I’m here to steal him. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so insulted. Raf and Tara have only been dating for a couple of months, and already Tara’s Instagram is flooded with pictures of the two of them together, limbs and lips merged into one four-legged, four-armed entity.

“Fine,” I say, holding Raf’s stare. “If you give me your keys, I’ll move it for you. There are plenty of free spaces.”

He shakes his head. “No. Sorry. I don’t let other people drive my car.” He takes a lighter from his pocket and sparks up the cigarette. The end glows hot, and he exhales a stream of smoke in my direction.

“Raf,” Jesse mutters. “Don’t do that.”

I wave the smoke away. “You’re such an asshole.”

Raf grins.

Around him, the others have fallen quiet. Tara watches me from her spot on his lap, ice-blond hair tumbling over her bare shoulder; Owen looks down at his sneakers; and Freddie taps his thumb against his teeth, like he’s anxiously waiting for whatever will come next.

Then Jesse springs to his feet and snatches the keys that are half hanging from Raf’s pocket.

There’s a beat of silence, just a split second, and I’m sure I see Raf’s jaw tense. “Oh, come on, man,” he says to Jesse, barking out a laugh. “I was going to do it.” He glances at me with an easy smile, like this was all in good fun. “I was just playing with you, Savana. You know I love ya, girl.”

Raf is still calling after me as Jesse and I pace across the warehouse toward the exit.

“Sorry about that,” Jesse says, keeping his voice low as we weave a path through the last of the partygoers. He stuffs his hands into his jacket poc

kets and stoops over a little, almost as if he’s trying to shrink a foot to get down to my height. “Raf has a strange sense of humor.”

I laugh quietly. “Yeah, he’s hilarious.”

Jesse catches my gaze and grins. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

I bite my tongue and say nothing. I have no interest in getting to know Raf Lombardi. I’m pretty sure I’ve already got him figured out.

Jesse heaves open the iron door, and we duck out into the quiet port.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Savana.” Out here his voice sounds clearer, with only the slosh of water lapping at the seawall and chains and buoys clunking with the tide. “I haven’t seen you around in a while,” he adds, his tone softening a little. “How’ve you been?”

I frown back at him. “I saw you in your driveway earlier.”

“Yeah. But I meant...” A shadow of a smile crosses his face. “We haven’t talked in a while, that’s all. Hey, did your dad come to visit you last weekend?” he asks. “I noticed his Pacer parked outside your house.”

I force a smile. “Mmm-hmm.”

Mom and I only moved to the neighborhood after the divorce was finalized, so Jesse doesn’t know my dad personally. But he knows my dad’s classic car, and he and his sophomore brother, Cody, often stray from their side of the fence to inspect it.

“How did it go this time?” he asks.

“Oh, you know. Mostly awkward, with Mom, Dad, and I all sitting around the kitchen island talking about the weather and pretending that our new normal is perfectly normal.” I shake off the memory of my parents having way-too-polite conversations about the snowfall in Glenview, Dad’s new home some hundred miles north of Havelock, where he lives with his girlfriend, Natasha.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse says as we stroll across the marina, stepping in and out of lamplight. “That sucks.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. I guess the awkwardness is so predictable that it basically is normal now.”

He snorts. “Yeah.”

We reach the parking lot and head toward the Bug. Corinne waves to us from the passenger seat as Jesse unlocks Raf’s Jeep. He stops for a moment, with his hand resting on the Jeep’s door frame. “Let me know if you want to hang out sometime,” he says.

I pause for a second, caught off guard by the notion. We hang out occasionally, sure, but only if we happen to be in the same place at the same time. We’ve never actually planned to hang out.

He grins in a kind of cute way that crinkles a couple of the sun-blushed freckles on his tanned nose. His warm brown eyes stay on mine while he waits for a response.

I find my voice. “Okay. See you, Jesse.”

“See you, Savana.” He gets into Raf’s Jeep, and with the door still swaying open, he st

eers it into an empty space.

I join Corinne in the Bug and start the engine. The rumble sounds too loud for the clandestine night.

As soon as we see Jesse jogging back toward the warehouse, Corinne extends her fingers wide. “I’m sorry, what?” She blinks at me. “Do my ears deceive me, or did Jesse Melo just ask you out?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yeah, but just as friends.”

Her artfully shaped eyebrows shoot up. “Oh-kay.” She draws out the word. “Friends? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Yeah. We’re friends.” Still, my heart gives a little skip at the thought that maybe, maybe, there was more to his comment.

Corinne’s focus stays on me as I drive out onto the street. ...