“How do you figure?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He seems to know things. And something he said after Jacopo died . . . it didn’t sit well. Like a bad clam.”
Matteo chuckled. “You are too much.”
She returned her gaze to Matteo. “About the trash. Have you found anything suspicious?”
He shook his head. “No. But I do know they are trying to find the shoes that match that footprint.”
“Right, the footprint. I almost forgot.”
He nodded. “So far, nothing. The shoes Antonio wore to the bakery the morning of the murder didn’t match the print. And the police have taken shoes from him and the rest of the apprentices. Nothing. Which is strange right? You think there’d at least be blood on something.”
She shrugged. “Lots of ways to get rid of blood on clothes—bury it, burn it, send it downriver
