“Where’s Dante?” I turned to Stewart. Usually the dog made every step that Stewart made.

Dante was the toy poodle Stewart took over from my son, Sean, a few months before. Sean had rescued the poor little guy from an owner—Sean’s former girlfriend—who’d lost interest in him when she discovered he had no pedigree. Once Stewart and Dante set eyes on each other, though, it was love at first sight.

“Laura has him with her this morning. She promised to keep him occupied so I could sneak out of the house. He’s had his morning walkies.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes before I need to head for campus.” He had a sip of coffee as he regarded me with a thoughtful expression. “Recovered from last night’s episode of Everybody Hates Vera?”

I couldn’t help laughing. Stewart was outrageous, but fun. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a talent for getting on people’s nerves the way poor Vera does.”

“She’s had sixty-odd years to perfect her talent. Plus, she’s worked really hard at it.” Stewart grimaced. “Be thankful she’s not your godmother.”

I probably gaped at him after that little verbal bomb. “Are you serious? Vera is your godmother?”

Stewart shrugged. “Sadly, yes. She and my late mother were best friends in high school. They both grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.” His left eyebrow arched. “They both ended up marrying money. Of course, my father inherited his, while Morty had to earn it by the sweat of his fevered brow.”

“Marrying into it is so much simpler, naturally.” I grinned, and Diesel warbled right on cue.

Stewart laughed. “Naturally. I have to say this for my mother, she stuck by Vera in the years before Morty had a pot to pee in—pardon the elegant expression, but it fits the subject so well.” His left eyebrow quirked upward again. “When I came along, charming bundle of joy that I was, my mother insisted on naming her best friend as my godmother.”

“Then you know Vera well?” This connection between Stewart and Vera really surprised me.

“Well enough, I suppose.” Stewart didn’t sound thrilled about it. “Vera was never that fond of me, nor I of her, but when she finally figured out I was gay, she had as little to do with me as possible.” He shot me a sardonic glance. “And of course I was completely devastated.”

“I’m sure it marked you for life.” I kept my tone serious.

Stewart snorted. “Just another example of the way Vera endears herself to people.” He paused for coffee, then set his cup on the table. “I do feel sorry for her sometimes. She tries to get people to like her; she just doesn’t understand the basic principle—that you have to be nice to people yourself. Plus, she has a chip the size of Mount Rushmore on her shoulder about growing up dirt-poor. She’s so sure people resent her because of Morty’s money, she comes across like a lion getting ready to feast on an arena full of terrified Christians.”