The Miller Report 11062025

 Miller's Mysteries Blog

 
   Greetings and Welcome! 
Greetings, fellow mystery lovers, and welcome to Miller’s Mysteries blog! 

The sun is shining, squirrels are darting through the yard, and the goats are attempting a tactical reconnaissance of my garden. 

Cats perched on the windowsill look ready to report back to HQ. Soon, we’ll be enjoying a matinee at AMC or strolling to Sam the Clam's. Nothing like seasonal mischief, good food, and a little local wildlife to brighten your day!

  • Across my Desk!!

People shouldn't have kids after 25. That's too many kids. 


What do you call a Frenchman who has been attacked by a bear?
Claude.

It takes 5 machines, 5 minutes to make 5 donuts.
How long does it take 100 machines to make 100 donuts?

I don't always read something mind-numbingly stupid, but when I do, it's always from a Democrat.

Einstein developed a theory about space...
And, boy, it was about time, too!

If Elon Musk's space company establishes a Mars colony, and you have a girlfriend on Mars, but later break up because of the long distance, she'd be your....Space X.


I was out camping when a monk tried to sell me flowers, but I said no.
I like to do my bit to prevent florist friars.


Did you hear about Bigfoot's promotion at work?
He had big shoes to fill.


What are the two magic words you say to get what you want?
I'm offended.


  • The Reader
Daniel sits cross-legged on the floor of his small studio apartment, a cup of instant ramen steaming beside him. His phone is propped against the wall, displaying Mindmyst Tales Blog. Notebook open, pencil ready, he slurps noodles between paragraphs. 

A funny exchange in the blog makes him nearly choke on the broth, laughing too hard. He scribbles down his favorite bits, ramen drops staining the corner of the page. The radiator clicks, the room is warm, and the story feels alive. Daniel finishes both ramen and blog at the same time, satisfied like he just shared a meal with the characters.
  
  
 • Math of the Week


1. Leaf Raking Geometry
Bob and Michele are raking the backyard, where golden and crimson leaves swirl in the brisk November wind. Bob gathers leaves into a triangular pile with a base of 6 feet and a height of 4 feet. Michele builds another pile shaped like a rectangle, 5 feet wide and 3 feet tall. How many more square feet of leaves does Bob’s pile cover compared to Michele’s?

2. Apple Cider Ratios
Michele stirs a steaming pot of spiced apple cider, its aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the crisp air. She pours 3 cups of cider for every 2 cups of water to make a perfect balance. If she prepares a total of 15 cups of cider mixture, how many cups of pure cider and how many cups of water are 
in the pot?

3. Crunchy Leaf Trail Distance
Bob and Michele walk along a crunchy leaf-strewn path, the smell of damp earth and roasted chestnuts lingering in the air. They mark each step: Bob’s stride covers 2.5 feet, Michele’s 2 feet. If they each take 120 steps, how many more feet does Bob travel than Michele?

4. Pumpkin Pie Fractions
The kitchen smells of baked pumpkin, cloves, and nutmeg as Bob and Michele carve pumpkins and prepare pies for a November gathering. They cut a pumpkin pie into 8 slices, but Michele eats 3 slices before dinner, and Bob eats 2 slices. What fraction of the pie remains, and what fraction has each eaten?

5. Cozy Blanket Area
Michele spreads a plaid wool blanket on the damp, crunchy leaves for Bob and herself to enjoy hot cocoa. The blanket is 6 feet long and 4 feet wide. If they each claim a rectangle of space 2 feet by 4 feet to sit, what area of the blanket is left unoccupied, and how many square feet do they each use?


 • Now, This Week's Exciting Story

Farmer’s Market Surprise

Strolling hand-in-hand through the farmer’s market, Molly filled her basket with cranberries, sweet potatoes, and fresh herbs. Rick insisted they make a cranberry-apple crisp in his cast-iron skillet right at the market’s outdoor kitchen. As the dessert baked, a band started playing lively bluegrass. Then someone slipped a folded map into Rick’s pocket, pointing them toward an after-dark adventure.



Molly’s eyes sparkled as she followed Rick through the twinkling market lights, the sweet smell of cinnamon and roasting chestnuts mingling with the crisp November air. The folded map felt oddly warm in Rick’s pocket, almost like it had a pulse of its own.

“Do you think this is… one of those ‘secret local treasure’ things?” Molly whispered, her voice a mix of excitement and mischief.

Rick grinned, spinning her gently toward a narrow alley lined with glowing lanterns. “Only one way to find out.”

Somewhere above, the faint notes of the bluegrass band floated into the night, keeping time with the quickened beat of their footsteps.


Rick and Molly crept down the lantern-lit alley, the folded map trembling in Rick’s pocket like it had a mind of its own.

“Do you think this is a treasure map, or a prank from the pumpkin festival committee?” Molly teased, elbowing him lightly.

Rick glanced at her, grinning. “If it’s a prank, I hope it’s a treasure map prank. Otherwise, we’re just lost in the dark with sticky cider hands.”

They rounded a corner and stumbled onto a small courtyard where shadows danced across the cobblestones. A tiny sign read: ‘Beware: Mischievous Spirits Ahead’.

Molly laughed, tugging Rick’s hand. “Well, they should know — I scare easily, and he’s a terrible ghost at hide-and-seek.”

Rick bowed theatrically. “And yet, somehow, I am your chosen knight against haunted mischief. Fear not, Lady Molly, for I carry both courage and cranberry crisp in my cast-iron skillet!”

A sudden clatter made them jump. A raccoon had tipped over a trash can, scattering leaves and what looked suspiciously like… leftover pumpkin muffins.

“See?” Molly whispered, pointing. “I told you it would be spooky. That raccoon is clearly a spirit in disguise!”

Rick scooped a muffin from the leaf pile. “If spirits like this, I say we negotiate. One muffin each — then onward to the treasure.”

Molly giggled, brushing leaves from her coat. “Only if you promise not to eat the map by accident.”

“Deal,” he said, winking. “But I make no promises about eating raccoons — or raccoon muffins.”

They followed the map further into the night, laughter echoing across the courtyard, the crisp November air carrying the scent of cider, roasted chestnuts, and adventure. Somewhere above, the bluegrass band’s fiddle soared, almost like it was guiding their footsteps.

And as the stars peeked through the chilly sky, Molly realized something: the treasure wasn’t just the map, or the muffins, or even the cranberry-apple crisp… it was the ridiculous, joy-filled chaos she got to share with Rick.



They followed the map’s twisting instructions through a narrow lane where the air smelled of damp leaves, roasted chestnuts, and faint smoke from a distant firepit. The lanterns hanging overhead cast amber halos that danced across Molly’s face, highlighting the soft curve of her smile as she clutched Rick’s hand.

“Keep your eyes open,” Rick whispered, leaning close so his warm breath tickled her ear. “The treasure could be anything.”

Molly shivered, but it wasn’t entirely from the chill — the crisp November wind teased through her scarf and tangled in her hair, sending little sparks of anticipation crawling along her skin. She tightened her grip on Rick’s hand, feeling the solid warmth, and realized her pulse had picked up in a way that had nothing to do with the walking.

They arrived at a small, ivy-clad courtyard. Fog from the nearby fountain curled around their ankles, carrying the earthy scent of wet stone and moss. Molly’s eyes drank in the scene — the soft glow of lanterns reflected in the mist, shadows stretching and twisting like dancers, the sound of distant laughter and muted bluegrass drifting over the walls.

“Looks… magical,” she breathed, tilting her face toward the soft, smoky light. The damp, fragrant air clung to her skin, and the thrill of being out here with Rick made her heart beat faster.

Rick leaned toward her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “Magical, and probably haunted,” he teased, though his gaze lingered, warm and steady.

Molly laughed softly, a sound that mingled with the rustle of leaves and the gentle plink of fountain water. “I think I like haunted,” she whispered, her fingers brushing his, sending sparks of contact that seemed to echo in the night.

Rick’s grin widened. “Then we’ll be perfectly haunted together.” He tugged her gently closer, so the fog swirled around them like a private curtain, wrapping them in the night’s chilly embrace.

Every sound seemed amplified — a leaf crunching underfoot, the distant strum of a guitar, the soft hum of the breeze — and Molly’s senses felt heightened, alive. Even the faint taste of cinnamon lingering from the cider on her lips mingled with the cool air, making the night feel electric, intimate, and entirely their own.




The mist thickened as they followed the flickering lanterns toward the edge of the courtyard. There, beneath a canopy of golden maple leaves, sat a small velvet-draped tent. A soft amber light glowed from within, and the air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and spiced tea.

Rick tilted his head. “You think that’s part of the treasure hunt?”

Molly smiled. “Only one way to find out.” Her boots crunched through the carpet of leaves as she pulled him toward the tent, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

Inside, the air was warm and heavy with incense. Strings of colored glass beads hung from the ceiling, and the glow from a dozen candles danced across silk fabrics in shades of deep wine and gold. Seated at a low table was a woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes the color of rain-soaked moss. Her presence felt both calm and electric, like the pause before a thunderclap.

“Welcome,” she said softly, her voice melodic, almost hypnotic. “You walk in laughter, but your hearts hold questions. Sit, and let the night whisper its answers.”

Rick raised an eyebrow but took a seat. “You get a lot of curious couples wandering in here?”

The woman smiled, tracing her finger over a deck of worn cards. “Only the ones the moon sends.” Her gaze shifted to Molly. “You first, my dear.”

Molly hesitated, then placed her hand, palm up, on the velvet cloth. The woman’s touch was cool and light, her fingertips tracing faint lines as if reading music on skin. “You see the world with a poet’s eye,” she murmured, “and yet you fear the silence between the notes. Tonight, the wind brings you a choice — to walk the known path or follow the whisper that frightens you most.”

Molly shivered, the words cutting close, though she couldn’t say why. Rick reached for her free hand under the table, steadying her with a squeeze.

Then the woman turned to him. “And you, wanderer — your hand carries strength and mirth, but also a shadow that you laugh away. You hide your heart behind humor, but love—” she glanced at Molly “—has already found it.”

Rick’s grin faltered, and for a moment, the playful air between them deepened into something warmer, more real.

The woman released their hands, her eyes soft. “The treasure you seek is not buried in the ground, but in the courage to see what’s already glowing beside you.”

Outside, the mist began to lift, and the sound of the bluegrass band drifted back through the night. Molly and Rick stepped into the cool air, their fingers still twined, their laughter quieter now — thoughtful, but no less alive.




The cool air felt sharper now, scented with pine and the faint sweetness of cider carried from the market square. Molly tugged her scarf closer, her fingers brushing the soft wool as she glanced over at Rick. The glow from the tent was fading behind them, replaced by the silver wash of moonlight filtering through skeletal trees.

“Do you think she planted that map?” Rick asked, kicking at a drift of leaves. “Maybe this whole thing was her setup.”

Molly smirked. “What, like a fortune-teller treasure scam? I don’t think she’s after your skillet, Rick.”

He laughed softly, but the sound was swallowed by the forest. A sudden rush of wings broke the silence — the kind of thunderous flapping that made the night feel alive. Molly froze, clutching his arm.

From the trees, a dark cloud poured out — dozens of crows, rising in a chaotic swirl above them. Their black feathers gleamed like shards of obsidian in the moonlight, their cries sharp and echoing through the branches.

“Uh… friendly locals?” Rick whispered.

“Sure,” Molly said, her voice tight. “Friendly like a tax audit.”

The crows circled once, twice, then swooped low, the wind from their wings cold against Molly’s cheeks. One brushed past Rick’s shoulder, its feathers whispering against his jacket. He ducked, holding up the map like a shield.

“Okay, okay!” he shouted. “We’re just visiting! No snacks here!”

Molly couldn’t help laughing, though her heart was pounding. “You’re negotiating with birds now?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Rick grinned, though his eyes darted upward.

The crows suddenly shifted — not attacking, but gathering. They perched along the branches of a single massive oak, silent now, their eyes glinting. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Molly took a slow step forward. The map in Rick’s hand fluttered in the breeze, and for the first time, she noticed a faint shimmer along its edge — a symbol that hadn’t been there before, glowing faintly like starlight. It pointed toward the woods beyond the oak.

Rick followed her gaze. “Guess they were… guiding us?”

Molly exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping her lips. “Crows as tour guides. Why not? It’s that kind of night.”

They moved past the oak hand-in-hand, the forest parting before them like a secret opening its door. Behind them, the crows gave one last unified call — a sound that echoed like a warning, or a blessing, carried on the November wind.




They stepped past the massive oak, the crows still watching like silent sentinels. The path narrowed, blanketed in leaves that shimmered silver in the moonlight. Each step crunched softly, releasing the earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles. The air was cold enough to make Molly’s breath swirl like tiny ghosts before her face.

Rick slowed, shining his phone’s light along the ground. “Look at that,” he murmured. Half-hidden beneath a swirl of leaves was a patch of disturbed earth — just enough to suggest something buried.

Molly crouched, brushing aside the leaves. Her fingers met something hard, wooden, and old. “It’s a box,” she whispered, her voice tight with excitement. “Rick, it’s really a box.”

He dropped to his knees beside her, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “If this thing starts ticking, I’m leaving you here.”

“Ha ha,” she muttered, prying at the latch. It was rusted, but gave way with a soft metallic snap. Inside lay a small bundle wrapped in faded cloth. She unfolded it slowly — revealing a tarnished silver locket, its surface engraved with delicate vines and initials worn nearly smooth.

The locket felt warm in her hand, almost humming faintly. Rick leaned closer. “That’s… beautiful. You think it’s part of the treasure?”

Molly nodded, eyes wide. “It’s too perfect not to be.” She held it up to the moonlight. The clasp clicked open easily, revealing a tiny, hand-painted portrait — a woman in old-fashioned dress and a man in a dark coat, smiling faintly, their hands touching just the way she and Rick had been moments ago.

A hush fell over them. The forest seemed to lean closer, the wind whispering through the trees as though breathing out a long-held secret.

Rick’s voice was quiet. “Maybe they were like us… following the map.”

Molly looked up at him, the glow of the lantern light catching in her eyes. “Maybe the map was never meant to lead to gold,” she said softly. “Maybe it was meant to remind people to keep following where love leads.”

He grinned. “You always turn my treasure hunts into poetry.”

“Someone has to balance the skillet jokes,” she teased.

They stood, hand in hand, as the crows took flight again — their wings flashing black against the moonlight, their cries echoing like a song through the woods. The locket gleamed in Molly’s palm, its faint warmth pulsing like a heartbeat, and she slipped it carefully into her pocket.

“Come on,” she said with a smile. “Let’s head back before the raccoons claim the skillet.”

Rick laughed, tucking an arm around her shoulders as they walked. “Next time,” he said, “we’re bringing a metal detector.”

Molly smiled into the night air, the wind stirring her hair as they stepped back toward the glow of the lanterns, the locket’s secret resting safely between them — a treasure found, and a memory born under the watchful eyes of November crows.



===========SHADOW
Alien Ships Discovered, Confirming Extraterrestrial Presence on Earth! 
They've arrived: A UFO has landed on Earth - and hundreds more are on the way.

SHADOW by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B4Z36PS3
Get your hands on a copy now and read for yourself the amazing testimonies entrusted to us for the record!


============Special Dark 
The treasure map promised gold and glory; Jack just hoped it also came with decent coffee and fewer bullets this time. ☕💰

SPECIAL DARK by Joseph Miller
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FX9LTS74
Grab a copy now. Begin your next great reading adventure. 


Visit and enjoy my Author Page 🍂📜 ♣️❤️♠️♦️
https://warlockpublishing.com/author-joseph-miller.html
📚📖📘📙📗📕📔📒📓📔📒📓📚 ✨🌙💥👣️👽️🛸🚀☁️ 🕵️‍♀️💕

Warlock


============ sponsor

KelDel Creations
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090364412851

Looking for unique treasures at the craft fair? Kelly’s booth is filled with one-of-a-kind handmade items. Each creation reflects creativity, care, and passion for the craft. You’ll find jewelry, décor, and keepsakes that spark joy and curiosity. Kelly enjoys talking about her inspirations and techniques with visitors. Take a leisurely stroll through her display and enjoy discovering something special. Stop by Kelly’s booth—you never know which piece might steal your heart.

The 2025 Torrington Christmas Holiday Festival is Sunday, November 16th. Go support our local makers and community! Put this on your calendar!
We look forward to seeing you again!! 



============

 • Thank you for stopping by! 
 
Before you head down the November road, take one more sip of that hot black coffee. Listen to the fire crackle, breathe in the chill, and know that your visit meant something real here tonight. Thanks for stopping by and sharing the warmth.



 • Please do write a comment.  You could, if you dare, ask me a question. If I like it, I'll publish it right here in Miller's Mysteries Blog!
[send to mindmyst@yahoo.com]

Until next Thursday,    
Happy November!!! 

Joe Miller 🍻🎃️🦃 

 • weather forecast
 Astronomers report that Jupiter has officially declared itself a “snowbird planet” and is migrating closer to the Sun for the winter.
Meanwhile, back on Earth, Southington will see flurries shaped suspiciously like IRS forms.
Bundle up — it’s tax season in the sky.


 • Questions from readers:
 
 “Joe, do you really need another coffee, or are you just trying to power the town grid?”
Joe: “At this point, the Southington power company calls me ‘sir.’”

 “Did you ever fix that squeaky door, or is it just auditioning for your next spooky story?”
Joe: “Oh, it’s staying. Adds ambiance and keeps salesmen away.”

 “Joe, did you mean to burn that toast, or are you experimenting with new carbon-based art?”
Joe: “I call it Breakfast Noir.”  


 JOE