Enjoyable enough but a bit eye-rollingly over-the-top at points with ominous foreshadowing giving way to sinister hokeyness. The Joyce Carol Oates blurb on the cover of the library copy I read compares this work to Highsmith and Hitchcock, which is ... aspirational but not accurate. The prose and dialog are uninspired, and the descriptions of Tangier in the 1950s are not particularly evocative or atmospheric. The whole thing is more "Single White Female" than "The Talented Mr. Ripley." The shifting focus on the two equally unreliable narrators is the book's best feature, especially when each woman tells her own version of the same events. But there is very little stylistic differentiation between them - if each alternate chapter hadn't been titled either "Alice" or "Lucy," it would have been tricky to tell them apart.