Family Landlords Raise the Rent to Force One Sister Out
At two o’clock, I let myself into the old apartment on Grand Avenue. The air inside was warm and smelled of cinnamon toast. Vanessa had left her blue designer sunglasses on the kitchen counter, next to an empty coffee mug and three dirty plates.
I took my small red toolbox out of the hall closet. I started in the bathroom, unscrewing the brass towel rack I had installed last winter to replace the rusted wire one. The plaster behind the screws was white and crumbly, leaving two small holes in the wall.
“Every single light bulb in this place belongs to me, Keith, and I am taking them,” I said to the empty room.
I went into the kitchen and stood on a wooden chair. The kitchen light fixture was a white glass schoolhouse globe I had bought at an architectural salvage yard. I turned the three brass thumb screws until the globe came loose, my fingers catching the dusty glass before it could slip.
