“In my deepest heart, I once wished to become a specialist in botanical medicine,” she said, a gorgeous shade of pink staining her high cheekbones. “I wanted to become the next Hildegard of Bingen, growing a monastic garden brimming with herbs and plants to cure the people who came to her hospital for hope.”

Patrick knew all about the medieval Benedictine nun. After all, he had a Saint Hildegard medal around his neck at this very moment. He always wore it beneath his shirt because he didn’t want people thinking he was a superstitious clodhopper, but he couldn’t help himself. He tugged the medal out from his shirt to show her.

“Hildegard is my patron saint,” he said. “I was born on her feast day, and I always liked the idea of a nun who could stand up to kings and popes.” Mrs. Kellerman didn’t seem the least put out by his saint’s medal, but it was probably time to get down to business. He tucked the medal back under his shirt. “Now, what can I do for you, Mrs. Kellerman?”

The warmth in her face cooled. “I’ve come to ask why a respectable lawyer would lower himself to represent a murderer like Mick Malone.”

It felt like a kick in the gut. Mick Malone was the seediest character he’d represented in his eight years as a lawyer, and he didn’t like that she threw it in his face.

“The jury found him not guilty,” he said simply.

“We both know that many factors went into that verdict, and none of them had anything to do with Mr. Malone’s innocence. No reputable man would have anything to do with him.”

Probably, but he wouldn’t betray a client by gossiping about him with a complete stranger. “And what makes you think I’m a reputable man?”

“Because you were educated by the Franciscans at Saint Boniface College. I know that you were a hairsbreadth away from taking vows into the priesthood and have performed free legal services for the church ever since. I know you volunteer at a Salvation Army soup kitchen every Saturday and are universally trusted by the people of the Five Points.”

“You’ve done your homework,” he said, his discomfort growing. She’d obviously sought him out over the Malone affair, and he saw no point in wasting time beating around the bush. “But I’d much rather discuss what brings you here today than my sad and stifled history with the Franciscans.”

“I’m disappointed you are representing Mr. Malone,” she said. “I was hoping you might reconsider the situation.”

“No.”

“I wonder what Father Doyle would think of your affiliation with Mr. Malone.”

“You know Father Doyle?” he asked in surprise. Father Doyle was his mentor at Saint Boniface and possibly the best man Patrick had ever known. The hardest thing about turning away from the priesthood was disappointing Father Doyle.