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Forty Nine

As I pressed the doorbell, Arrabella's delighted smile welcomed me when the apartment door opened. "You're here! I thought you weren't coming," she exclaimed.

"I can't say no to you, Bella," I replied as I entered. "Where's your brother? I noticed the depth of his thoughts, and I was surprised when he threw a glass against his bedroom wall last night. I hope he's not upset that the one who shot Grandpa is dead. I told him I was right," Arrabella explained. "He's been drinking more lately, though."

"Did the shooter kill himself?" I asked. It's difficult to accept when one of your loved ones almost dies, and the perpetrator dies without receiving justice.

"No, he was killed. I'm sure one of Grandpa's siblings hired him to kill him. But, in any case, I want you to hear the song I wrote. Stay here," she said cheerfully before running off to the library.

I sat on the couch and looked around until she came back with a guitar. The thought of her forcing me to play the guitar gave me a chi
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