Tom Ripley returns, now happily married to a rich French woman, comfortably settled on the outskirts of Paris, yet involved in various schemes to make illegal money. He’s the brains behind an art forgery ring out of London that starts to unravel, and also participates in lifting items off various targets for a fencing organization. The art forgery spawns yet another murder, Tom luring a man who suspects the forgery into his wine cellar where he beans him, then carelessly decides to dump the body in a shallow grave nearby (which ends up being emptied and the body tossed in a local river, but the grave also reused to house Ripley himself when one of his cohorts attempts to kill him). It’s all the usual muddle that you’re amazed he can get away with, you have to completely suspend disbelief that all the cops aren’t locking him up immediately. Bodies start piling up, and yet he escapes… or does he? The book ends as he’s about to get a phone call and we never know, until the next book in the series begins.