Finally, the turn of a lock, and the door opened.

Veronica was just as she’d been the last time. Long, tangled hair. Loose clothing hanging from her body. She was barefoot this time, and her skin glistened from the heat that was coming from the fireplace.

“It’s hot in here,” she said. But she stepped aside and let Nic enter.

“Damn fire either won’t stay burning and I freeze my ass off, or gets hot as hell.”

Nic smiled. “Thanks for letting me in.”

“At your peril.” V laughed then. “Want some tea?”

Nic wasn’t sure if she was serious. The place had to be eighty degrees. The windows were closed, and Nic wondered why she didn’t just open one, even a sliver, to let in the cool air.

“No thanks,” Nic said after V went to a kettle and poured hot water into a cup with a tea strainer. When she returned, she moved a leather jacket from the back of a chair, then pulled out the chair for Nic to sit. The table was just as cluttered as last time.

“Did you make that?” Nic asked. She motioned to the jacket which now lay on top of a pile of fabric.

V shook her head. “Just doing a repair. Ripped pocket. I’d be rolling in dough if I could make clothes like that.”

“So,” V said quickly after. “Is this about Daisy again?”

“I hope that’s all right.”

V titled her head, studying Nic closer now. “I guess we’ll find out. What more do you want to know?”

“I was hoping you had some pictures of her. I couldn’t find anything on the Internet. She doesn’t use social media, at least not under her real name. Images come up, but I have no idea which one is her.”

V nodded. “You want to know how much you look like her.”

Nic hadn’t expected that. Booth had told her she reminded him of his lost love, but Kurt had not seen it.

“Do I?” Nic asked. If anyone would know, it would be her sister.

V shrugged. “Some,” she said. “But you can judge for yourself.”

She got up and walked to the small hallway which was lined with three doors. She opened one and disappeared, then returned with a cardboard box. She needed both arms to carry it.

She placed it on the small piece of table that was clear just in front of Nic.

“We didn’t exactly do family portraits. We didn’t even have phones until we could pay for them ourselves, and believe me, they were the shittiest little phones you could buy. We weren’t snapping selfies and posting them on those sites they have. Facebook, right? I listen to the news.”

“So what’s in the box?” Nic asked.

“Daisy’s things. Junk, mostly. But it’s not my place to throw it out.”