by Liz Mugavero
Town Historian’s Death Shuts down Groundhog Day Festivities
Tragedy Discovered as Ceremony Kicks Off
By Cyril Pierce
Helga Oliver, beloved town historian and founder and executive director of the Frog Ledge Historical Museum, died Sunday after a tragic fall.
According to witnesses at the scene, Oliver, 87, was working at the museum before the town’s annual Groundhog Day ceremony, at which she was scheduled to speak. When she failed to arrive on time for her speaking engagement, friends and organizers expressed concern. Her body was discovered shortly after at the bottom of the museum’s basement stairs.
Oliver was pronounced dead on arrival at Thornwood Memorial Hospital.
Oliver was a lifelong Frog Ledge resident and devoted her life to perpetuating the town’s history. She is the author of Frog Ledge: Connecticut’s Revolutionary Headquarters, a book detailing the town’s historical highlights. In addition to her position as executive director of the museum, Oliver worked at the Frog Ledge Historical Society two days per week, and was champion of the town’s efforts to digitize all paper records. She was also a long-time volunteer at the town’s historical War Office.
She is predeceased by her first husband, state Senator Benjamin Miller, and her second husband, Henry Oliver. Oliver leaves behind two children: daughter Sarah Oliver and son Frog Ledge Town Councilman Donald Miller; daughter-in-law Carla Miller; two grandchildren, Donald Junior and Derek; longtime companion Gerry Ricci, also of Frog Ledge; and countless friends and extended family who will greatly miss her.
Arrangements have not yet been made public. A celebration of Oliver’s life is being planned on and around the town green within the week.
Cyril Pierce didn’t disappoint. The story offered everything there was to know about Helga’s death. Everything except Betty’s theories about a murder, thank goodness.
Reading about Helga’s accomplishments made Stan feel melancholy. This woman had contributed so much to the town, and now she was gone. Just like that. Even at her well-lived age, Stan still found it immensely sad. The only condolence was that her work would live on.
Stan flipped the Holler over to read below the fold. The story was about the postponement of an upcoming historical walking tour Helga was supposed to host. She wondered if Dale Hatmaker would try to worm his way into the job. She tossed the paper on her kitchen table.
The dogs were barking outside, and she needed to get moving. Lots to do today. She and Amara were walking up to Izzy’s for their weekly planning meeting. Somehow, Stan had been “voluntold” into helping Amara with her grand opening well past preparing treats and meals. She didn’t mind, really. The new clinic and shelter would be a huge advantage for the town, and it would promote healthier pets than practices that only catered to traditional medicine. The time commitment was worth it.
She went to the back door to check on the dogs. Henry and Scruffy were standing at the fence, probably waiting for a glimpse of their cow friends from the Happy Cow Dairy Farm farther down the street. They loved to watch the cows, although they mostly stayed in their enclosure this time of year.
“I think it’s too cold for the cows!” she called, opening the door a crack. “Want to come in?”
Both dogs’ heads swiveled to look at her, then went back to watching through the fence. “I guess not,” Stan said, and closed the door.
Nutty jumped up on the windowsill next to her and watched the dogs, wistfully, it seemed. He still had a touch of that stray cat blood in him.
“You don’t want to go back outside,” she told him. “Remember all the bad things that happened out there?”
Nutty swished his tail, leaving it standing in a tall plume. He didn’t look at her.
“Besides, you wouldn’t get any home-cooked meals out there. Or homemade treats. And I’m sure that wouldn’t work for you.”
That got his attention. He fixed his blankest stare on her. The one he gave her when he thought she was being extra stupid.
“Fine. You know the truth. I’d miss you.” She leaned over and kissed his head. He gave in and nuzzled against her. “We have to cook up the venison today. You’ll get to try some. That’s the benefit of living in the pet food chef’s house.”
That perked him up. He hopped off the windowsill and headed for the kitchen, as if to say, Well, come on then, what are you waiting for, lady?
She followed him into the kitchen, letting the dogs stay outside a few minutes longer for some exercise and fresh, albeit cold, air. She wouldn’t be able to bring them with her to Izzy’s this morning. It became too distracting when they were trying to work. And this afternoon she hoped to stop by Betty’s house with some homemade soup. She didn’t normally cook for anyone other than herself and sometimes Jake—her cooking was usually reserved for dogs and cats—but figured a traumatic event like Betty had endured yesterday called for some soup. She could also bring some of her new Strawberry Bites for Betty’s cat, Houdini, to sample. And she wanted to press Betty about her allegation that Helga had been pushed. If it had been the medicine talking and she wasn’t singing the same song today, Stan could forget about it, as well as Dale Hatmaker’s potentially incriminating request for Helga’s job. If Helga hadn’t been murdered, she could chalk that up to bad taste. If Betty stuck to her guns, well, that was another story.
She pulled out her large slow cooker. She wanted to get the soup, a hearty harvest vegetable, simmering while she was out so the veggies had plenty of time to soften and release all their yummy flavors into the broth. She’d picked up fresh kale, carrots, chick peas, and a bevy of other veggies from the winter farmers’ market she’d visited on Saturday in the town hall. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. She planned to make a double batch for herself. She had plenty of veggies. What better meal for an end-of-winter week?
Especially considering how frigid it was outside. A lot colder than yesterday, as if the Groundhog, Interrupted act had ensured winter would return in full force. She longed for spring and a run at the green with warm sun shining down and people doing yoga on the grass as she passed. The spring, summer, and fall seasons were so beautiful here it almost made her forget about the winter. But every year, January through March seemed like the longest months. She might have to consider that vacation house in Florida once the business really took off.
She gave Nutty a sampling of the venison before putting it in another pan to sauté and letting the dogs back inside. They bounded in happily. Their fur was cold and a little wet. “Is it snowing, guys?” She peered out and noticed it was, indeed, flurrying. Maybe she and Amara would drive to the sweet shop.
Once the soup was cooking in the slow cooker and everyone had eaten their breakfast, Stan showered and bundled up in case they walked, and headed next door to Amara’s. The snow still swirled, but it didn’t seem to be accumulating. Despite the long, cold winter, Stan had to admit it made a beautiful picture—the quaint New England town, the historical green with the church steeple in the distance blurred by white flakes.
Amara greeted her at the door with car keys. “Did you have your heart set on walking?”
“Nope, I was hoping we’d drive.”
Amara breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I’m so sick of being cold.” She jammed a knitted hat over her chin-length brown hair, adjusted her glasses, and picked up her coat. “Let’s go.”
Stan hopped in the passenger seat of Amara’s little Prius. “Can you believe how yesterday turned out?” she asked.
“So sad.” Amara backed out of the driveway and turned the car toward Main Street. “She was a nice lady. A little abrupt, but she was old enough that she was entitled, you know?”
“Did you know her well?”
“I was getting to. She was actually working on some genealogy research for me.”
“Really? She’s a genealogist, too?” Jake had never mentioned that.
“She dabbles. Dabbled. I met her right after I moved to town.” Amara had moved to
Frog Ledge about two years ago. She’d told Stan once that she’d felt a connection to the little town when she’d visited as a child, and eventually kept her promise to herself to move there. Stan had felt the same way last year when she’d stumbled upon Frog Ledge and the house that she would buy only weeks later. Until then she’d never known Frog Ledge existed, but it immediately felt like home.
“I went to the historical society after I moved in to look around, learn about the town’s history,” Amara continued. “Helga was there and we got to talking. She eventually convinced me to let her look into my mother’s side of the family, since I don’t know much about them.” She pulled into Izzy’s lot and parked.
Stan remembered Amara telling her that her mother had died when she was only seven. She hadn’t been in contact with her family for many years before she died. Amara’s father had remarried within a year and he hadn’t known her mother’s family anyway, so she had no information on them. “Did she make any progress?” Stan asked, climbing out of the car.
“She was getting there,” Amara said, beeping her car locked. “She actually had just done a DNA test.”
“A DNA test? Really? How does that work?”
“I gave a sample and she sent it off for testing with another sample, I think. Said she’d found a possible connection to my family. Of course, I agreed.” Amara sighed. “I don’t know if she ever got the results back. So I’m sad that she’s gone because I genuinely liked her, but also for my own selfish reasons. I really wanted to know about my mom’s family.”
Chapter 8
Stan stepped inside Izzy Sweet’s Sweets behind Amara and inhaled. The scents of cinnamon and chocolate mixed with bold coffee enveloped her like a warm hug. Behind the counter, Izzy Sweet loaded freshly baked pastries into one side of the pastry case that zigzagged through the middle of the café while keeping up an animated conversation with a woman waiting for her coffee. The other two-thirds of the case was loaded with spectacular handmade chocolates Izzy purchased and had shipped in from all over the world. Stan tried to avoid looking at them. She was a sucker for truffles.
The café was packed. Most mornings it was packed. Despite some locals’ opposition to having a fancy café in town rather than a greasy spoon diner, Izzy’s place attracted visitors from all the surrounding towns—especially college students from the two nearby schools. And she had her share of Frog Ledgers who wouldn’t dream of getting coffee anywhere else, Stan and Amara being two of them. Izzy saw them and held up two fingers in the universal peace sign. Meaning, she’d be right over. Stan snagged the corner table as two wholesome-looking housewife types vacated it.
“Will you try to find a new genealogy person? I’m sure there are tons of them these days.” Stan picked up the thread of the conversation from the drive over as she hung her coat on the back of her chair.
Amara wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know yet. I liked Helga’s style. And she was a perfectionist. So I felt confident with her. I guess we’ll see.”
“What’s cookin’, kids?” Izzy appeared at their table, tossing her long braids over her shoulder. As usual, her caramel-colored skin was flawless without a touch of makeup, save for some eyeliner. With her exotic looks, she could more easily pass for a runway model than a small-town café owner. Even dressed in leggings and fuzzy boots, Izzy had presence. Like Stan and Amara, she was a transplant to Frog Ledge, though she’d been here for a few years now. Which made her the first of the three to own a successful business. Despite a rough start, her café had come a long way. “Here to work or play?”
“Work,” Amara said. “But if play means we can have one each of whatever smells so good, we’re playing, too. Right, Stan?”
“You don’t even have to ask,” Stan said. She’d given up worrying about her workouts. The cold weather killed her motivation. Now she just wanted to sit at Izzy’s, drink strong coffee, and eat delicious pastry.
“Two mini chocolate Bundt cakes with caramel filling. You got it,” Izzy said. “And I have two special drinks on the menu for the next two weeks. For Valentine’s Day. An amazing Swedish drinking chocolate—way better than regular hot chocolate—and a chocolate coffee peppermint kiss latte.”
“I want the drinking chocolate,” Amara said immediately. “I might even want two.”
“I’ll try the latte,” Stan said. “With soy.”
“You got it. When I come back, I’ll tell you the latest on the building.” With an eye roll, she headed back to get the food and drinks.
“Uh-oh.” Amara looked at Stan. “What’s going on with the building? I bet Jake is wishing he never got involved.”
With the success of the café, Izzy had ventured into business number two—a project that had gotten off to an even rockier start. She’d chosen one of the town’s oldest, unused building a few doors down from the café as the perfect location for a bookstore, a resource the town was sorely lacking. The building needed extensive renovations, however, and had been a financial burden on Izzy right from the get-go. Jake had recently stepped in with financial backing, so she was back on track. Renovations were under way, but they weren’t going as smoothly as everyone had hoped. Stan had heard more than her share of stories from Izzy about Frank Pappas, the general contractor running the project. Who also happened to be Jake’s buddy, although they hadn’t looked too enthralled with each other when she’d seen them talking at the Groundhog Day event.
“I don’t know. I think he hoped he could just hire Frank and be done with it, since he knows him. It hasn’t worked out that way.” Jake didn’t go into great detail about it, but Stan knew there’d been challenges. And he already had enough on his plate with McSwigg’s. Plus, he and Izzy didn’t have the smoothest partnership in history, even before this venture. “Problems over there will be the last thing he wants to deal with this week, given everything else.”
Izzy returned with a tray full of goodies. The smells alone made Stan feel like she’d died and gone to heaven. Izzy unloaded everything, then pulled a chair over. “Mya’s covering the counter for a few minutes. So get this. Last week I get a letter delivered asking me to halt work on the building.”
“Get out.” Amara sipped her drinking chocolate. “Oh. My. God. Izzy. This is . . . there are no words for this drink.”
“Right?” Izzy grinned. “Delish. Anyway. Did Jake already tell you this?” she asked Stan.
Stan shook her head.
“Figures.” Izzy pursed her lips.
“Who was the letter from?” Stan asked, sipping her own drink. It was delicious, too.
“Some state committee on historical buildings.”
“The State Historic Preservation Office?” Stan asked.
“Yeah, something like that,” Izzy said with a dismissing wave of her hand.
“But your building isn’t technically deemed historical, right?” Amara asked, starting on her Bundt cake.
“That’s the point. They’re now saying they want to try to get it designated as a historical building, which would totally mess up my plans. And take forever.”
“So what’d you do?” Stan broke a piece of her cake off and nibbled. Still warm. She forced herself to eat one tiny bite at a time—otherwise, she’d be in danger of inhaling the whole thing within minutes.
“I brought it to Jake and Frank. Frank threw a hissy, like he does pretty much every day, about everything. Typical contractor.”
“What did Jake say?”
“He suggested we call them. Actually, he suggested I call them.” She frowned. “Like I’m not trying to run a business, too.”
“So did you?” Stan sipped her latte.
“Not yet. It’s on my list for today.”
“But they aren’t halting the work,” Stan said.
“No, the letter didn’t tell me to stop, it asked. So until further notice, I’m keeping it moving.” Izzy sighed. “Crazy stuff, right? So, that’s all. I better get back to the lattes. Mya can’t make them as fast as I can. Enjoy, girls.” She wink
ed, picked up her tray, and hurried away.
Amara raised an eyebrow behind her red glasses. “Again, poor Jake.”
“Seriously. I wonder why he didn’t mention all that.”
“Probably to keep you out of it, since he knows you’re friends with Izzy.”
“True.”
Amara finished the last of her cake and sighed contentedly. “Now I’m ready for our meeting.”
Stan took her iPad out of her purse and pulled up the document where she kept track of each meal she had on the list for the grand opening, which was now less than three weeks away. They spent the next hour poring over display setups, recipes, and meal planning for the next few months until Stan noticed an older woman with impeccably-styled frosted blond hair wearing a velour running suit hovering nearby. She stared hopefully at Stan, trying to catch her eye.
“Hold on one sec,” she said to Amara, and smiled at the lady. “Do you need one of us?”
The woman moved closer, her hands fluttering anxiously. “Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just had to come over and see if it was really you!”
Stan glanced at Amara. “Me?”
“Yes, you are Stan Connor, right?”
“I am,” Stan said cautiously. Was this someone her mother had sent to talk her into something?
“I’m so thrilled to meet you. My name is Dianne Richardson. But everyone calls me Dede.” She offered a cold, dry hand to Stan. “I live here in town and I’m a huge fan of yours.”
Stan rose and shook her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Dede. This is Amara Leonard. She’s the veterinary homeopath in town.” Amara waved. “Would you care to join us?” She pulled over the chair Izzy had vacated. Dede sat gratefully.
“What can I do for you?” Stan asked, sitting, too.
“Well.” Dede clasped her hands together and stared adoringly at Stan. “I’ve been hoping to run into you because I felt funny calling, even though my friend—I think you know her, Millie Abernathy?—told me to.”
“Mrs. Abernathy with the groundhog?” Stan asked.
