"I'm going to write myself into something bigger than me," Maisy Taylor tells herself, but the scattered papers on her floor are daunting: "What am I trying to say?" A glass of wine and a clit-diddle could get the juices flowing, but sonic interruptions—some otherworldly, as well as the more mundane sounds of urban life—make it tough to concentrate. "It’s like my neighbors are in the room with me," she tells a friend. "It does happen when I masturbate. As soon as I get turned on, it all starts to creep in ... the smallest sounds, like breathing or sighing. It doesn’t happen outside, only in that perverted haunted house."

That night, she dreams about—or maybe overhears—two women getting it on in an adjacent room, and the next morning she's busily typing away, reflecting that everybody listens to their neighbors anyway. "An intimate symphony, composed by all these lives, just for me! The music of the building flowed under my fingers. My story was blossoming."

Things get serious—sort of—when an intruder murders a neighbor as she's relaxing in her tub. A detective (Romeo) comes in to investigate and we meet the neighbors: The victim's ex-husband, a doctor who owns the building; the married couple, whose wife had that girl/girl with the victim; the pedantic busybody teacher. Taylor tells Romeo what she heard the night of the murder, and, later, the doctor gets arrested and Taylor gets together with Romeo in a garden that may or may not be a fantasy ... but right afterward she figures out whodunit, in the real world, adding a droll finish.

A light comedy of murder, with a little sex. Good for couples and people who want some plot to go with their sex scenes.