The Moonshine Murders: The Jailer's Daughter Mysteries

By Joy York

In this young adult mystery set in 1970, a family tragedy prompts Christi, a shy and studious teenager, and her mother to travel to rural Roselyn, Mississippi. Christi's Uncle Bill, the county jailer and a deputy sheriff, is critically wounded while investigating a moonshine still that a local farmer found on his property. As the deputies approach the scene, they are ambushed by four assailants, resulting in the death of the farmer, then vanish without a trace.

Convinced the history of local mistrust of ATF federal agents will hinder the investigation, Lily, the jailer's daredevil teenage daughter, is determined to find the culprits who shot her daddy. She just needs to persuade Christi, her scaredy-cat cousin, and her best friend Troy, the son of the investigating detective, to join the hunt. Living in a house connected to the jail, Lily thrives on excitement and pushing boundaries. Rule abiding Christi and Troy have been entangled in Lily's misadventures before and suffered the consequences of lying, spying, and sneaking into forbidden place. With Uncle Bill's life on the line, Lily manages to convince them this time will be different. What harm can a few questions and a little information gathering do?

Lily's first assignment brings them face to face with a bootlegger brandishing a shotgun. Christi and Troy quickly realize Lily has once again left out critical details of her plan. When the trio meet Jake, the undaunted teenage son of the murdered farmer, he offers to take them to the location of the ambush. The horrifying scene they stumble upon has them running for their lives. The deeper the foursome digs to uncover the truth, the more the danger escalates, and the threats become personal. Will they back off and let the authorities handle it? Or will their stubborn doggedness result in another disaster?

This face-paced southern mystery also has a coming-of-age theme. In their efforts to find justice, the four teens discovered the importance of loyalty, being their genuine selves, trust, and taking responsibility for their actions. There is also a sweet romantic first love theme to the story. Adult mystery lovers will enjoy the many twists, turns, and surprises that will keep them guessing. The historical elements of the 1970 setting will also give a nostalgic feel of a time past for some adult readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350936483

Joy York

Joy York grew up in Alabama but has spent much of her adult life in the Midwest, currently living with her husband, Terry, in Indiana. Inspired by a family legacy of oral storytelling, she began creating stories and adventures for her son when he was growing up. With encouragement from family and friends, she began to write them down. Her first book, The Bloody Shoe Affair: A daring and thrilling adventure with the jailer's daughter, a YA southern mystery set in the rural south in 1968, was published in 2015. The Moonshine Murders, (a just released standalone set in 1970) is Book 2 of The Jailer's Daughter Mysteries. Genuine Deceit: A Suspense Novel, was published on Amazon in May 2021. Protective Instinct, a mystery/thriller, is coming soon from World Castle Publishing. For more information, visit https://www.joyyork.com. Twitter @joyyorkauthor Facebook: Joy York Author Instagram: @JoyYorkBooks

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©2023 Joy York

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Print ISBN: 979-8-35093-647-6

eBook ISBN: 979-8-35093-648-3

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

To Neil and Wyatt.

You are always in my heart.

Your boundless energy and curiosity keep me young!

Chapter 1

Finding Justice

I woke up in my cousin Lily’s bed surrounded by a pile of 45 records, "American Woman" by The Guess Who still clutched in my hand. Darn! I wanted to listen to that! A quick glance to my right told me Lily had already flown the coop. My growling stomach reminded me of the typical country breakfast awaiting me. Homemade biscuits with gravy, country ham, eggs sunny side up, grits, and Aunt Martha’s canned strawberry jam were all calling my name.

The wind-up alarm clock next to the moss-green Princess phone on the nightstand read 8:12 a.m. It would be groovy to have a phone in my room, but with my two brothers clambering for the same thing, it was what Daddy called a pipe dream. Lily was lucky. No annoying siblings to compete for the cool stuff.

I dropped my head back on the pillow and sighed. I was amazed I had slept through the whole night, which was a rare occurrence when I stayed with my cousin Lily. Not because I was afraid to be away from home. It was because Lily lived in a two-story brownstone house attached to the Roselyn County Jail. The only thing separating us from a bunch of criminals was a steel door and a fifty-foot check-in hall. It certainly wasn’t the type of accommodation you would expect when visiting a relative, but these relatives were unique. My Uncle Bill was the deputy sheriff in charge of running the county jail, and my Aunt Martha, the best cook in Roselyn County, oversaw the meals for the prisoners.

No matter how many times I’ve been here over the years, the creepy feeling never went away. My biggest fear was a jail break. And it didn’t help when I heard the occasional scream promising murder and mayhem during the night. That’s why Lily kept a baseball bat under her bed. Not that I thought it would do much good, but it did make me feel a little better.

Lily had the whole upstairs of the brownstone all to herself. The rooms were spacious with ten-foot ceilings and beautifully carved wood crown molding. Her brass bed with a green and gold flowered bedspread sat against a wall of windows with coordinating drapes and sheers. Aunt Martha, who was a talented seamstress, made a lovely gold-satin skirt to go around her mirrored vanity with a matching cushioned stool. An assortment of make-up accessories and perfumes were scattered on top. A small stereo record player and radio console sat in the corner. A tall green and gold antique refinished Chester Drawer completed the elegant looking room.

I pulled back the curtains to get a peek at the weather, groaning when I saw the low-hanging gray clouds. At least it would block some of the intense southern heat.

An ornamental balcony was outside the windows. Although it was not meant to be accessible, it had never stopped Lily. She climbed through the windows to sunbathe or to spy on the deputy sheriff’s driving into the jail parking lot. Watching a deputy bring a rowdy prisoner in was often more entertaining than Hawaii Five-0. A large tree with thick branches sat on the corner of the balcony. It was what Lily called her spying tree, because it was easy to climb, had plenty of leaf-cover, and a great view of the parking lot. Using it to sneak out was a bonus.

The smell of fresh baked biscuits wafted through the air. Better get moving. I was headed to the bathroom when Lily thundered up the stairs. Grabbing my hand, she excitedly pulled me back into her room and slammed the door. I talked to Mama and Aunt Laura. They are going to let us spend the day with Troy! Isn’t that great?

Exactly what did you tell them? Lily tended to twist the facts about where we were going and what we were planning to do to make it more parent pleasing. Critical facts were generally left out to avoid an out and out lie.

I said we were going to see friends and grab something to eat around lunchtime. Now we can go to see Tatty Barker and get the information we need! she said excitedly.

So, you lied. I don’t think that’s what Troy had in mind when he said to get permission from our parents, I huffed. "If they knew we were going out in the rural county to see an old drunk who used to be a regular prisoner, I’m sure the answer would be big fat ‘no!’ Call that Barker guy on the telephone and ask him your questions. If Mama and Aunt Martha find out what we are really doing, we are going to be dead meat!"

Lily shrugged. We’ve already been over the telephone thing. Tatty Barker would probably think it was a trap set up by the police to get him to admit something. It won’t take that long to drive out there to find out what he knows. Besides, we can stop by the Dairy Barn on the way back. Some of my friends are sure to be there. See? A few omissions.

You missed my point.

Did not. It’ll be perfectly fine, Christi. Trust me.

Are you sure Tatty Barker will even remember you? You said it’s been a couple of years since you’ve seen him.

Lily smiled confidently and pointed to herself. How could he forget me? We used to play checkers through the jail bars. I even took him some Lucky Strike cigarettes I snuck out of Deputy Rudy’s desk. Tatty Barker could at least pay me back with a little information.

There was no reasoning with her. Once she made up her mind, all I could do was pray it didn’t blow up in my face.

After a mouthwatering breakfast, we went back upstairs to Lily’s room to finish getting ready. She made the bed, while I put the records back in their sleeves and picked up the room. I had to admit I was jealous of her selection of the newest top 1970 singles.

Thirty minutes later, we headed downstairs to wait for Troy in the living room. Since I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, I took extra care getting ready. I wore a navy cotton short-sleeve midriff that tied in the front and a pair of belted white shorts. Lily wore a color-blocked tank top with red shorts. Mississippi heat in August didn’t allow for many fashion alternatives.

Although Lily and I were cousins and both sixteen-years-old, our physical appearance and personalities couldn’t be more different. Lily was popular, charismatic, mischievous, and a risk-taking daredevil, while I was shy, studious, cautious, and a big scaredy-cat. Her lighthearted nature and gift of persuasion seemed to melt boys into butter. I had trouble getting my tongue to work properly when I was in the company of the male species. Lily was a rule bender. I was a rule follower. But despite my fears and insecurities, I couldn’t help but be drawn to her sense of adventure. The more I was in her company, the more her confidence seemed to rub off on me. No matter how many lectures we got from our parents that young ladies were expected to behave responsibility, Lily always found a way to convince me otherwise.

Lily was pretty with an impish smile and a shapely figure. Her deep brown laughing eyes suggested she knew something you didn’t, and she usually did. Her shiny auburn hair cut in a sleek medium bob was hardly ever out of place. I, on the other hand, was tall, slim, and fair with long strawberry-blond hair that hung midway down my back in soft curls—if I was lucky. The southern humidity often had other ideas about my painstaking attempts to smooth out my frizzy curls with large orange juice cans. Some girls straightened their hair with a hot iron on the ironing board. If the number of clothes I had scorched to ruin was any indication, the iron method would provide disastrous results for me.

I glanced at Lily, taking in the big smile on her face that hadn’t been there when Mama and I arrived yesterday. Now she had a sense of purpose. That was the main reason Troy and I had agreed to her insane plan.

Uncle Bill was in the intensive care unit at the local hospital. He had been shot. As soon as Aunt Martha called, Mama and I packed up and drove the two and a half hours from Meridian to rural Roselyn, Mississippi, where Mama grew up.

Although Uncle Bill’s main responsibility was the county jailer, at times he was asked to help with apprehensions. Yesterday morning, a farmer reported finding a moonshine still on his property. Uncle Bill was asked to assist. As they approached the location of the still, the farmer and deputies were ambushed. The farmer was killed instantly. Uncle Bill was critically wounded by two bullets. Luckily, the other deputies got him to safety, but the attackers got away.

When we got to the hospital, Lily was stomping around the waiting room in frustration. Not only was she too young to go up to the ICU to see her daddy, but the deputies refused to give her any details about the shooting. To be truthful, there was a good reason to keep the details vague. Lily tended to stick her nose where it didn’t belong without considering the consequences. I guess when you grow up in a house attached to the county jail your perception of danger has a higher tolerance than the average person’s . . . mine and anyone else who was relatively sane.

As a kid, sneaking into the jail to visit the prisoners was Lily’s pastime. She played board games with them between the bars, snuck them candy and cokes, and listened to their stories of injustice. Apparently, they were all wrongfully accused. Who knew the jail was filled with innocent people? It was all completely normal to Lily. I think she considered them playmates of sorts. Whenever she convinced me to go with her to the jail to visit the prisoners or play jailer in the empty cells, I was terrified. I think she kind of liked that. The number of misadventures we had was too many to count. Although experience taught me to be more cautious, I still couldn’t deny the thrill I got from skirting the edge. She always managed to have me flying straight toward the flame, and nine times out of ten I ended up being the one to get burned, while her silver tongue had her wiggling right out of it.

It took exactly fifteen minutes after my arrival for Lily to decide we needed to help find out who shot Uncle Bill. When she suggested we ask Troy Thompson to help, she knew she had me hooked. Troy was the son of Detective Robert (Bob) Thompson of the Roselyn City Police Department. The county and city were different jurisdictions, but they worked well together and shared the county jail. Troy was tall, handsome, athletic, and most importantly, a genuinely good guy, but totally out of my league. We met a couple of summers ago when we were both drawn into one of Lily’s lamebrain investigations. I’ve had a crush on him ever since.

Lily and Troy have been friends forever, and she shamelessly takes advantage of his good-natured personality. The fact that he had a driver’s license, and we don’t, didn’t hurt. Lily promised we wouldn’t do anything dangerous in our information gathering, just ask a few questions around town. The fact that our first task involved an ex-criminal, and we were already telling lies was not a good sign. I had to remember to take Lily’s promises with a grain of salt.

Since Uncle Bill was shot during an investigation involving a moonshine still, Lily thought the logical place to start was with someone who drank it. Tatty Barker had been a regular in the Roselyn County Jail for years. Drunk and disorderly most weekends. After he slept it off and sobered up, Lily thought he was a funny guy. She hoped he might share some inside information about the local moonshine business that would lead to the perpetrators. When we all spoke on the phone last night, Troy and I worried an unannounced visit to Tatty Barker’s home might not be the safest plan. Lily had other ideas.

Troy blew his horn, which was so unlike him. He was a polite, say hello to the parents’ kind of guy. We grabbed our purses and ran to the door before anyone figured out what we were up to.

We’re leaving, Lily yelled.

Have a good time, Mama answered. We’ll be at the hospital most of the day.

Troy was waiting at the curb in a beautiful red 1965 Mustang GT Fastback with white Lemans stripes. The interior was cherry-colored with leather bucket seats and a manual transmission. He wore a yellow Izod knit shirt and white shorts. His soft brown wavy hair that barely brushed his collar, beautiful smile, and deep, green eyes almost stopped my heart. He was so much better looking than I remembered. Lily got to the passenger door first and pulled up the bucket seat for me to get in the back. My heart sank a little.

Troy turned around in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. It’s great to see you, Christi. Your hair has really gotten long. You look foxy!

My cheeks burned. T . . . Thank you. You . . . ah . . . look good too? A flush of embarrassment shot up my neck. What was wrong with me? I am such a dweeb.

He chuckled and cleared his throat. I would have come inside, but Lily insisted on a quick getaway.

That’s okay. This car is boss! When did you get it? I asked excitedly, smoothing my palms over the lush leather seats.

My Uncle Craig is a captain in the Marines. When he went on his third tour to Vietnam, he sold it to my dad for me. If I stay on the honor roll, I get to keep it. Oh . . . and no tickets.

We need to go, Lily said, anxiously twirling a strand of her silky hair around her finger. Do you know how to get to County Road 17?

Troy pulled into the street. Yep. A friend of mine lives a couple of miles west of Mr. Barker’s place. Most of the houses out there have long driveways and are set back off the road. He may be pretty hacked off about us showing up on his property unannounced. We need to be careful. Folks out in the country like their privacy.

That doesn’t sound good, I said. Lily, just call him on the telephone.

She let out a long sigh. Darrell told Mama the ATF was coming in to lead the investigation into the moonshine still, and who shot Daddy and the farmer, Lily explained.

What’s the ATF? I asked.

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. It’s a federal agency. Part of the Justice Department, Troy explained. They control moonshine trafficking, but they don’t get called in on every bust—mostly just the big operations. According to my dad, the moonshine stills around here are all smalltime stuff. Don’t see much federal involvement.

Maybe the ATF will help, I suggested.

Not likely, Lily said sarcastically. Daddy says they do more scaring off than catching. A few years back a couple of federal agents were in town looking for two teenage boys who robbed a gun store in Alabama. Some of the rifles turned up in Roselyn. The sheriff offered to help when they came to town, but the feds turned them down. Said they were the professionals. None of the locals would talk to them. The agents eventually cornered the boys in an old barn outside of town. One agent got shot badly, and the boys got away. If they had talked to the sheriff first, they would’ve found out the barn was owned by one of the boy’s uncles who had a record for grand theft and aggravated assault. Never did catch them. That’s the reason I want to find out as much as I can. Folks around here don’t trust federal agents.

Lily, Police Chief Hahn assigned my dad as the lead detective in charge of the investigation. He might have to work with those federal agents, but he’s still going to be a part of it. He and your dad have been friends all their lives. Don’t you think he’ll do everything in his power to catch those guys? Troy asked with a hint of irritation.

Once those agents take over, who knows? she said doubtfully.

What makes you think Tatty Barker is going to talk to us? I asked.

Because we’re kids. We have no power to arrest him. I’m going to appeal to his good nature.

Troy snorted a laugh. Because drunks are known for their benevolence.

I know y’all don’t agree, but at least I’m doing something. Not just worrying myself sick sitting around the hospital waiting room. Y’all, please don’t wimp out on me now.

Troy caught my eye in the rearview mirror, smiled, and winked. My breath caught.

For the record, I like the phone idea better, but we’ll see how it goes, Troy said. If it looks sketchy, I’m not going in.

I hope he remembers me, Lily mumbled under her breath.

Well, that’s reassuring.

Chapter 2

Tatty Barker

The sky seemed to darken the further we drove down County Road 17—or was it my imagination? We had no idea what we might be walking into.

The Barker place should be somewhere within the next mile or so. Hopefully, there will be a mailbox. Keep your eyes peeled for number 24, Troy said, reducing his speed to a crawl. Both sides of the road were lined with trees and thickets of bushes making it difficult to see the mailboxes let alone read the numbers.

There it is, Lily pointed, excitedly. The faded black one between those honeysuckle bushes.

That’s a driveway? Troy asked in disbelief. After a moment’s hesitation, he cautiously turned down the narrow dirt road with deep tire tracks. It was lined with sticker bushes, tall grassy weeds, and over-grown tree branches dangled precariously above us. This is going to mess up my car.

It’ll be fine, Lily encouraged.

We had only driven a few yards when the car dipped, made a clunky sound, and we bounced up, our heads hitting the roof.

No damn way! I’m out of here, he said with aggravation, as he slammed his foot on the break and stopped. My shocks are probably shot!

Don’t freak out! I get it! Lily screamed. Fine! We’ll leave and forget the whole thing. You promised to help me, but . . . hey, the first little sign of trouble, and you’re ready to cop out!

Come on, Lily. That’s not fair. You know I’m doing the best I can. Maybe I can borrow somebody’s old truck.

Lily defiantly folded her arms across her chest, her lips in full pout.

Why don’t we walk up to the house? I suggested. Leave the car here. It can’t be that far. I figured it was better to get it over with, because Lily was never going to let it go. Her determination was legendary.

Troy’s eyebrows crinkled in disbelief. You want me to leave my car here? Blocking the road?

If we don’t do it now, we’ll never hear the end of it. Besides, how many people do you think come down this road? I asked. I’d bet more rabbits than vehicles.

You’re right, Christi. Let’s go, Lily agreed.

Troy flashed me a look of pure betrayal. I shrugged.

He shook his head. Please be careful opening the car door and be sure to lock it. I don’t want to be a jerk, but this car means a lot to me. Besides, if my dad sees it messed up, he’ll start asking questions, right after he murders me.

Lily eased out the door. I gingerly wormed my way out behind her, careful to avoid the overgrown sticker bushes.

I’m sorry for acting like a brat, she said, walking around the front of the car.

I shouldn’t have lost my cool, Troy said, hugging her.

A twang of jealousy hit me in the pit of my stomach.

The dirt road worsened the further we walked. The holes got bigger, and the bushes got thicker. We tried to stay on the mound between the tire ruts to avoid the rocks and potholes, but it was difficult in smooth bottomed sandals. As we rounded a curve, it opened into a cleared grassless area revealing an old, wooden house with a tin roof. The gray-black house looked like it had missed twenty years of paint, and the roof hanging over the porch was barely supported by two rotten wooden planks. A tweed, tattered couch sat on the porch. Two concrete blocks were used as steps. A faded, green truck with rusted wheel-wells was parked in front of the house.

We came to a complete halt and stared at each other wide-eyed.

Now what? I whispered, feeling a surge of cowardice run up my spine.

We go to the door and knock, Lily said casually.

In your dreams! I whisper-shouted. I’ve seen too many movies with dilapidated houses like this. Teenagers go in, but they don’t come out.

You might be overreacting a bit, Troy said deadpan. Usually at least one of them escapes.

But the others get chopped up in pieces or locked in a cellar for the rest of their lives!

You two knock it off, Lily said, rolling her eyes. I’ll go to the door.

As Lily took a few steps, bang, a loud gunshot rang out. My heart stopped, and I almost peed myself. Troy grabbed our hands and pulled us behind the truck.

Feeling desperate, I said, Maybe we could make a getaway in this hunk of junk. I was mostly kidding. I think.

Troy chanced a peek inside the truck and ducked back down. No keys.

You aren’t seriously considering it, Lily whispered. I don’t want to go to jail.

Troy chuckled. Well, it’s not like you’d have far to go?

Lily smacked him on the arm. That’s not funny.

Jail sounds better than getting shot, I scoffed. Then to Troy, Don’t you know how to twiddle those little wires and make it start?

You watch too much TV, Christi. Lily said flatly. If you remember, Troy’s Mustang is blocking the road.

Bang! Another shot. I flinched and ducked lower to the ground. The sound came from behind the house. Troy peeked around the truck, then squatted back down. "I can’t see anything.