Don't Make Me Haunt You

by SquishyCool

There's this weird thing that Beth Greene experiences sometimes. But it's been several years since it happened, so she tries to forget about it. Until a strange man named Merle shows up one day and refuses to leave. As it turns out, this man is dead. And she's the only one who can see or hear him. Oh - and apparently, she needs his brother's help to solve the whole conundrum.

92. A Whole New Meaning to One Foot In The G

A Whole New Meaning to One Foot In The Grave

With Merle's help, Beth managed to convince Frankie to come with them back to the farm. Which meant the backseat of Rick's car was now occupied by two ghosts, even though he couldn't see or hear them. And thankfully, he was understanding enough to remain quiet while Beth talked to seemingly thin air during the drive out of Atlanta. Though she did catch him side-eyeing her every now and then.

She couldn't blame him. She figured there was no such thing as getting used to somebody conversing with ghosts in one's presence.

"I only got one problem with this," Merle said from where he sat behind Beth.

She rolled her eyes, preparing herself for the worst, and asked, "And what's that?"

"Well, how're you s'posed ta focus on catchin' Philip if yer spendin' time helpin' Frankie? I ain't tryn'a have my soul put on the backburner." He caught Frankie's eye and quickly added, "No matter how worthwhile her cause is. Or how good-lookin' she might be." He flashed her a flirty smirk and, to Beth's dismay, Frankie smiled back, blushing lightly.

Beth sighed. "I am capable of multitasking, ya know."

Merle scoffed. "You've yet t'prove that, but okay. Don't forget, I was here first. I earned yer time an' attention. Ginger jus' showed up outta nowhere, didn't even have ta do nothin'—"

Frankie interjected, "Excuse me, you're the one who said she could help me. I wasn't even gonna ask."

"I know, I's jus' playin'," Merle chuckled, flashing her another smirk.

"Oh my god," Beth groaned. "Can y'all stop flirting? You're seriously grossing me out—Frankie, you can do a lot better than him, don't fall for it. I'm sure there's still a dating pool in the afterlife."

"Shut up, blondie!" Merle quipped. "Quit bein' a damn cockblock."

But Frankie just laughed and said, "Well, I can't do worse. I mean, I'm dead, and the last guy I fell for killed me, so…"

"So," Merle said, raising his eyebrows suggestively and scooting a little closer to her on the seat. "It's safe t'say you make a lotta bad choices…"

Beth sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat. "Merle—"

"Yeah, that's kind of a mood killer," Frankie admitted, putting out a hand to keep the distance between her and Merle. "I don't make that many bad choices."

"Well," Merle resigned, scooting back over. "Can't say I didn't try."

Beth glanced at him in the rearview mirror and said, "Try to contain your first-born syndrome fer now. I plan on figurin' this out and getting her to where she's supposed to be before the party."

"Party?" Frankie asked. "What party? When is it?"

"Tomorra night," Merle explained. "Gonna go find the guy that killed me. Gonna confront him an' try ta put my doomed soul to rest once an' fer all. An' hopefully save my baby brother's soul while we're at it."

Frankie furrowed her brow in confusion. "I think I'm missing a lot of context for this. Is your brother still alive?"

Beth heaved a sigh. "It's a long story."

"Well, we got a good hour 'fore we're at the farm," Merle said. "I'll catch ya up. So, I showed up on blondie's farm 'bout two weeks ago. Didn't know nobody could see me or hear me, ya feel? I was jus' wanderin' 'round. There's this fuckin' asshole that killed me—made it look like a suicide an' everybody believed it 'cause everybody thinks the fuckin' worst'a ol' Merle, go figure—an' it turns out, he helped kill my mama thirty years back. It was an insurance scam. They was tryn'a kill my brother, too. His name's Daryl—princess over here's kinda fuckin' in love with 'im. Won't admit it, but that's neither here or there. Anyhow…"

---

The drive back to the farm felt much longer when Beth was forced to listen to Merle recount their entire journey. Thankfully, it only took him about fifteen minutes to summarize the whole ordeal for Frankie. She still had a lot of questions, which Beth tried to answer, though she was regularly interrupted by Merle.

"So, like, you're a Witch? A real Witch?"

"Um, yeah," Beth attempted to explain. "It's complicated. I know it's a weird term. That old Irish lady that Merle mentioned—she's an actual Witch. So is Morgan. We all have the same Gift, basically. I guess I'm reincarnated from one of my ancestors who fled Ireland during the Witch Trials a few hundred years back. She was Gifted, too."

Merle chimed in, "She only jus' started callin' herself a Witch 'bout three days ago. Blondie's got it in her head that she's some kinda fuckin' goddess now. Guess seein' dead people's considered a blessing nowadays. Would'a got 'er ass a lobotomy back in the day. Or a real strong prescription and some comfy socks in my day."

Beth sighed. "I do not think that of myself." She shot Frankie a pleading look from over her shoulder. "Take everything he says with a grain of salt. There's a reason nobody questioned whether his murder was actually a suicide."

Merle let out a low growl and muttered, "Low blow, princess. Best watch yer mouth."

"Or what?" Frankie challenged, eyebrows raised. "You're gonna haunt her elderly dad to death? That's pretty screwed up."

"What?" Merle threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "It's all I got! How the hell ya think I got this far? My natural charm don't work on this pampered li'l church girl."

Frankie and Beth scoffed in unison. Then Frankie remarked, "I can't imagine why."

Beth smirked and gave Frankie an appreciative smile. "Wow, I really like you. This is nice. Havin' somebody on my side for once."

"Don't get used to it," Merle snapped. "Y'wanna get in my baby brother's pants, ya gotta play by my rules."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to face the front.

Rick sighed and asked, "So are y'all gettin' anywhere yet? She givin' you some information you can use t'put her husband into custody?"

"Oh," Beth frowned, shaking her head as if to rid her brain of the distractions Merle had brought about. "Yeah. Yeah, lots of stuff."

"Good," he said. "'Cause if you get enough, reckon we could jus' call Sergeant Ford an' give him the tips. He could use the win right now, that's fer damn sure. I know this case is already keepin' him up at night."

"And how d'you know that?" Beth asked.

Rick shrugged. "'Cause he's a good cop. An' it'd keep me up at night. So I know it's gotta be eatin' away at him."

Beth furrowed her brow and turned her head to gaze out the window at the passing scenery. She suddenly felt foolish. And a little selfish. She'd never considered how murders like this could keep the law enforcement involved in a state of mental purgatory. Sometimes, she thought, she needed to remind herself that these things affected more than just the families.

She thought of Mr. Horvath. Of Daryl's roommate and best friend, Carol. Of Eugene Porter. Of her own father and brother and sister. They all had guilty consciences, and not because of their own doing. But rather, because of what they couldn't do.

She didn't want to end up like them. She wanted to be able to sleep at night knowing she did absolutely everything in her power to make things right. To find justice. To put restless souls to peace, once and for all.

Merle and Frankie fell into an anticipatory silence in the backseat. Beth cleared her throat and turned her head to look at Rick again.

"So what do they know about Frankie's murder so far?" She asked.

Rick shrugged. "Not sure." He blew out a soft breath. "Shit, I didn't even really know her name 'til you just said it…"

"Well, it's Frankie Smith," Beth explained. "Her husband's name is Negan. He killed her with a baseball bat."

She could see the shadow crossing Rick's features as he took this information in. He grunted and repeated quietly, "Negan…" Then he scoffed. "Stupid fuckin' name. Sounds like a real asshole. What kinda pompous dipshit uses a baseball bat as a murder weapon?"

Frankie agreed from behind him, "That's what I said! I still don't understand his stupid fucking infatuation with that thing."

Merle grunted. "Better than a rope."

Beth ignored him and continued speaking to Rick, "So how can we find out what they know so far? And how do we tell them what Frankie tells me without sounding… suspicious?"

Rick furrowed his brow, eyes locked on the road ahead as he drove. "Well, it don't have to sound suspicious."

"But what am I supposed to say when I give 'em what they need to charge him?" Beth asked. "It's not like I can say I'm a psychic or something. They'll just laugh and ignore me. Too many details and they'll think I was some sorta… accomplice."

Rick hummed thoughtfully. "That's true." He sighed, shaking his head. "I dunno. How 'bout we take it a step at a time? I'll call Abe real quick an' see what they know so far."

"Okay," Beth agreed, watching as he grabbed up his phone and unlocked the screen with one hand, his other hand still on the steering wheel. "Good idea. Put it on speaker so we can all hear."

"I'll tell you everything I remember," Frankie offered eagerly. "What time he killed me, how he dumped my body, where he dumped it. If you can get Ford to finally check out that damn dumpster in the city—"

"Hol' up," Merle interrupted. "How the fuck did you even get t'come back so fast? How come you know all this shit 'bout yer own murder?"

Frankie shrugged. "I dunno—you didn't have the same experience?"

"No! I barely remembered actually bein' killed!"

"How long did it take you to come back?"

"Over a fuckin' week! Maybe two! I came back an' found my fuckin' house all taped up an' abandoned. I was already a pile'a goddamn ashes by then!"

Beth turned her head to look back at Merle and said, "She probably came back so fast because she's an actual good person who didn't waste so much time makin' a deal with a literal demon."

Merle leaned back in his seat and heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Oh, Christ, here we go again. Better pack my bags fer another guilt trip."

Frankie smirked in amusement, but before any of them could make another remark, Rick was demanding Beth's attention.

"Hush up now, I'm callin' Abe," he said, tapping the screen of his phone and holding it out between them. "Don't say anything. Just lemme ask him some questions."

Beth saw the name Sgt. Abraham Ford on the screen, and just as Rick tapped the Speakerphone button, the sound of ringing filled the car. It only rang twice before it was picked up. And then Sergeant Ford's familiar gruff voice was coming from the other end, echoing through the cab of the Sheriff's car.

"Grimes? Didn't I just see you an hour ago? You forget somethin'?"

Rick spoke a little louder in order to be heard over speakerphone, "Yeah, kinda. Listen, I heard about that murder case yer workin' on—"

Abe sighed loudly through the phone. "Shit. The Smith case? Y'all shouldn't've gotten anything since we had that missing persons report. We're not really lookin' too hard fer two nondescript Black men. I don't think it reaches yer county."

"Nah, nah, I know," Rick said. "'S not that. I just—" he paused, glancing at Beth uncertainly. She offered him a reassuring nod and raised eyebrows of encouragement. "—I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout it. I know it's a lot on yer plate, an' you offered t'help me out with my unsolved cases down here."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone. Then Abe spoke a little quieter, "Yeah? And? What's a small-town Sheriff gonna be able t'do for me? You know this ain't nothin' new. No disrespect, Rick, but the big city's a whole new ballgame. Reckon there ain't much you can help me piece together. It's like a goddamn Gone Girl situation."

Rick furrowed his brow. "Gone Girl?"

"Yeah, ya know, the Ben Affleck movie," Abe explained. "Where the wife fakes her death an' frames the husband—'cept she wasn't dead, an' then she showed back up when it suited her jus' fine."

Beth stifled a laugh as Rick rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I done told you time an' time again that you watch too many movies, Abe."

"Hey, it was adapted from a book. A damn good book."

"Alright, but still—"

"I'm not sayin' that's the case, though. I mean, I thought it might be at first. Then her body washed up and…" Abe sighed loudly, his exhaustion evident in the sound. "Well, look. I was really hopin' for a goddamn Gone Girl. But instead, I got a textbook murder case that I can't get a lead on. Now that my fuckin' piece'a shit computer wants to act right, I might actually be able to get some work done. But—what's this about, anyhow? You try'na make some extra cash by spillin' the beans to the media? Are you that hard up? Is that bitch ex-wife drainin' you of that meager Sheriff salary? 'Cause if you need a spot, I could lend ya a few bucks—"

"Hell no, nothin' like that," Rick quickly interjected. "Relax. I'm jus' tryin' to help. I know how hard these cases can be. I know the toll they can take."

Another pause of silence. Heavy, emotional silence. The kind where Beth could practically see Abe's red eyebrows knitting together, and the bags beneath his eyes growing heavier, even over the phone.

Then Sergeant Ford sighed yet again and admitted, "Yeah, well… ya ain't wrong, Sheriff. We got a tip line, but it's been quiet as a church mouse these past two days. Even with the damn reporters sniffin' around and hounding us for information, we don't got shit. Reckon I couldn't fill a spit bucket with the amount of credible evidence we got so far."

Rick hummed in understanding. "An' what information is that, anyhow? What all d'you know?"

Abe chuckled humorlessly. "Barely enough to tell our asses from a hole in the ground. Brought the husband in for questioning. Held him as long as we could. But he was real quick to hire a lawyer. Good one, too. Can't do squat with that scummy prick watchin' our every move. And the husband didn't say shit. He's real fuckin' suspect, if ya ask me. But I can't charge his weasley ass on instinct alone."

"'S that so?" Rick asked, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he kept one hand on the wheel and the other clutching his phone. "You got a bad feelin' 'bout him?"

"Hah!" Abe barked out. "Bad feeling is an understatement. He's a pompous fuckin' asshole, that's what he is. Real piece'a work. Thinks of himself as the big swingin' dick. Got a record already. He had another wife back in Virginia—she died, too. Wasn't his fault, though. That much we know for sure. Poor broad died of cancer. He seems real remorseful 'bout her. Can't say I get the same vibe 'bout his latest wife, though. We got a couple domestic disputes on record for their address. Last one was about three months ago. But you know well as I do that we can't go off that. Neighbors reported screaming an' whatnot. No arrests, unfortunately. Not even a fuckin' detainment or citation. This poor woman wouldn't even report him for the goddamn black eyes my guys saw. And this time, the neighbors who reported were outta town. Weren't even home. Damn shame, but his flimy li'l alibi is holdin' up mighty strong on account of no credible fuckin' witnesses. Makes me wanna punch his stupid fuckin' face in. He's awful smug, ya know that? You seen the news reports about him yet? The bullshit li'l interviews he's been doin' with all them crocodile tears? Beggin' people for tips on the murder he probably fuckin' committed? He's got a face that's beggin' to be rearranged, I tell ya what."

Beth could see Rick's jaw tensing, and the thin line that his lips were forming. His eyes flashed and he blinked, shaking his head lightly as if to shrug the emotions away.

From the backseat, Frankie's meek voice chimed in, almost like she was talking to herself, "Yeah. The Millers went to Savannah for the week. They had a wedding to attend. Mrs. Miller called the cops every time she heard me an' Negan arguing—when she could hear it… I lied to the cops every time they showed up. We just… we didn't need any more trouble. We couldn't afford him missing work over some stupid domestic dispute."

Beth pursed her lips and focused on the phone call, forcing herself not to glance towards the backseat. She wasn't sure she could bear to see Frankie's pitiful face right now.

"Nah, I haven't seen any of those," Rick admitted. "But he sounds like a real piece'a work. What'd y'all get that makes you think he did it?"

Abe scoffed into the phone. "Shit. Not enough for the court of Georgia, but more'an enough for the court of Abraham Ford. 'F it was up to me, I would'a locked this asshole up as soon as we detained him. Found blood in the living room. Hers, of course. My spatter guy found traces on the wall—but it was all cleaned up. Can't do shit about that. Could'a been anything since we can't tell how recent it is. Asshole claims he didn't see her past midnight on the night she went missing, yet he didn't report it 'til the next afternoon. Real attentive fuckin' husband…"

Rick bummed thoughtfully. "So he claims she was kidnapped, but now he says he didn't see her after midnight and didn't report it 'til the next day? And I'm guessin' she don't have her own vehicle?"

"You guessed it alright. That ain't the only contradiction either," Abe confirmed. "We can't find her cell phone. Can't even trace it, looks to be dead or turned off. Probably smashed to bits somewhere we ain't ever gonna find. Couldn't find a lick of evidence in his car—not even a strand of hair. Pretty fuckin' weird, if ya ask me. What kinda wife doesn't leave a few strands of hair in her husband's car, at the very least? We even checked the trunk. Nothin'. Not even a speck of blood. No DNA at all. And there's a spot on the wall in his living room… looks like somethin' should be mounted there. He claims it was an old trophy, but he lost it in the move. What I can't figure out is why the hell the spot's still there. There was dust like somethin' was moved, but we can't find a fuckin' thing that matches the imprint. I got a hunch it's some kinda Viking axe, or a Samurai sword or some shit. Maybe even a baseball bat. I dunno. But it's suspicious as hell. Why the fuck would y'keep the mount if you lost the item meant to be mounted before you moved in?"

"Jesus," Rick said. "That whole damn thing is suspicious as hell. This ain't no innocent husband."

"No shit. But all the goddamn evidence is circumstantial. And dickweed's got a lawyer that's smooth as a fuckin' dolphin. If we don't find a murder weapon or somethin' with his prints on it, this asshole's gonna walk outta court unscathed. If we even make it to court." Abe made a low sound of aggravation, then asked, "So, any bright ideas, Sheriff? Y'think there's somethin' I'm overlookin' here?"

Rick muttered, "Uhh, well…" then quickly tapped the Mute button on his phone and glanced to Beth with an expectant expression.

Without hesitation, she said, "Ask him if they know about the affair he's been having for months."

Rick's eyes went wide. "Affair? There's another woman?"

Beth nodded. "Of course there is!"

He motioned for her to shush and unmuted the phone. "What about a, uh… other woman? Ya think maybe he had some chick on the side you could track down for questioning?"

"Well, the thought crossed my mind a few times," Abe said. "We got a warrant to search his phone an' computer. They were all clean. He's an asshole, but he's not a stupid asshole. And we ain't heard a peep from anybody else who might'a known anything. It's like this poor woman didn't even have any friends down here. Everybody that she corresponded with lives back in her hometown in Virginia. I think he isolated her. No surprise, really. Textbook abusive husband an' whatnot."

"Shit," Merle muttered from the backseat. "That true? You ain't even have one friend down here since y'all moved?"

"Yeah, it's true," Frankie replied meekly, almost shamefully. "He didn't want me to work and he didn't think it was 'safe' for me to go anywhere without him in a new place. He said I always looked too good—that people would get the wrong idea…"

Merle's tone softened as he whispered, "Shit. I'm gettin' some crazy deja vu over here…"

Rick gave Beth another expectant look, but this time, Beth turned her head to express the same look to Frankie.

The dead redhead was frowning, but her eyes were alight with interest as she leaned forward in her seat to listen in closely on the call. When she interpreted Beth's look, she raised her eyebrows and said, "He, um… he didn't talk to his girlfriend on his actual phone. He bought a burner. Kept it well-hidden. I didn't even find it until the other day. That's how I found all the texts."

Beth's eyes widened and she silently mouthed, "Where?"

Frankie shrugged, glancing away sheepishly. "In the um, in the fireplace. Up inside it. There's a loose brick about a foot up and to the left that he stashed it behind. We never actually used the fireplace, so…"

Beth nodded and turned back to Rick, gesturing for him to hit Mute again. As soon as he did, she explained as fast as she could, "Negan has a burner phone that he uses for his mistress. It's stashed in their fireplace, behind a loose brick about a foot up and to the left. Tell Abe to search the house again. More thoroughly this time."

Rick blinked. "Well, I'm sure he's gotten rid of it by now—"

"Just tell him!" Beth hissed.

"Alright, alright," Rick conceded, unmuting the call once more and clearing his throat. "Alright well, I know it's pro'lly a long shot here, but… ya know me an' Lori had a pretty messy divorce—"

"Yeah, I heard from Walsh," Abe interrupted. "The bitch cheated on ya?"

"She's still the mother of my children, Abe," Rick defended. "No need t'talk about her like that. We both made our mistakes."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever helps ya sleep at night. What's this got t'do with Negan Smith?"

"Well, she never did her… extramarital stuff on her regular phone. Too risky. She had a burner. Actually hid it up inside our fireplace behind a loose brick. We never used the damn thing, so—"

"Shit!" Abe remarked. "You butterin' my biscuit right now? So what, you suggestin' we should search his house again fer some burner phone that he prob'ly already ditched?"

"Couldn't hurt, could it?" Rick said. "I mean, if that warrant's still good."

Frankie sighed. "He wouldn't get rid of the burner. Trust me, he wouldn't. He might've hid it somewhere else, but there isn't really anywhere else to hide it. Our house is too small. Not enough nooks or crannies. He thought himself the smartest man alive with that shitty fireplace thing. I mean, it had me fooled for a while, so I guess…"

Merle scoffed. "You ain't stupid an' he ain't smart. He's just a smug dickhead. Don't give it another thought, red."

Abe was thoughtfully silent for a moment, then he muttered, "Well, they do have a fireplace… an' we turned the place upside-down, but we didn't go crawlin' up in the damn chimney. My guys ain't chimney sweeps, after all."

Rick perked up. "Maybe it's worth a shot then."

"Yeah. Maybe," Abe agreed. "Shit, then it really would be like Gone Girl… Thanks, Sheriff. I'll send 'em over for another surprise search before supper time. We been tailin' him ever since he was released from custody, and he's been spendin' all his time at home. Layin' low, I reckon. But if he's got some broad on the side, I'm sure he's keepin' her updated somehow. Wives might be crazy, but mistresses are even crazier."

"Speakin' from experience?" Rick teased.

"Hell no!" Abe cried. "But if we can find a side bitch an' get her to talk, it wouldn't be the first time some murderin' needledick got himself a hefty prison sentence just 'cause his girlfriend had a guilty conscience."

Beth wordlessly urged Rick to hit Mute again, and as soon as he did, she said, "The murder weapon and the smashed phone are in a dumpster in Atlanta. Frankie was pulling it up on Google Maps on Sergeant Ford's computer—that's why he thought it was glitchin' out. We need to hint that to him somehow."

Rick shook his head. "There's no way to hint that without outright sayin' it, and I don't—"

"Grimes? Y'still there?" Abe's voice asked through the phone.

Rick unmuted the call and said, "Yeah, I was jus' thinkin'. So uh, I'm guessin' y'all already searched all the dumpsters near his house an' whatnot for evidence? And near the place where her body washed up?"

"'Course we did," Abe confirmed. "Searched everythin' within a five-mile radius. Even dug up every square inch of his property. That's just protocol."

Frankie sighed from the backseat. "Well, the dumpster is way more than five miles from our house. And even farther than that from where my body was found. We used to watch a lotta true crime shows. Guess I kinda dug my own grave with that one."

Merle barked out a laugh.

"But honestly, we don't think she was dumped anywhere close to where she washed up," Abe went on. "'Member it was rainin' harder than a cow pissin' on a flat rock this last weekend?"

"Yeah, I remember," Rick said. "Had a hell of a storm down here, too."

"Well, it raised the Chattahoochee a few inches, and it was movin' awful fast," Abe explained. "We figure since she wasn't weighted down with nothin', she could've floated downriver twenty, maybe thirty miles before she ended up at Sope Creek Trail. Doesn't really narrow the search down much, jus' tells us she was dumped real careless and hasty-like. An' thanks to that damn rain, any kinda shoeprints or tire tracks prob'ly got washed out jus' the same."

"Damn," Rick sighed defeatedly. "It's almos' like he planned it that way…"

"Hell, I ain't givin' him that much credit. Think he just got lucky. Real fuckin' lucky."

"Yeah. An' let's hope that luck runs out sooner rather'an later."

"Agreed. Anyway, you got anythin' else for me? Swear to God, if you take this shit to the media—"

"Abe, relax. I ain't never been that kinda man. You know that. I'm jus' sick of seein' murderers walk free. Last thing we need is this guy gettin' off an' doin' the same damn thing to his next wife."

Abe hmphed in agreement. "I can drink to that. An' I think I will tonight. This shit's really eatin' at me, ya know…" His tone softened, growing remorseful and almost sad. "Poor girl's mama keeps callin' an' showin' up to see if we got any leads. She's spendin' all her money jus' to shack up in some roach coach so she can be close by. I dunno if I got it in me to turn her away one more time. She looks thinner an' paler every time I see her."

Beth heard an audibly stifled sob from the backseat. She couldn't bring herself to look back. If she saw the tears in Frankie's eyes, she wasn't sure she could hold back her own tears.

"Shh, c'mon now, red, don't go cryin' like that, makes ya look ugly. Yer too damn pretty to be such an ugly crier," Merle said. And to Beth's shock, his voice actually sounded soothing. She glanced in the rearview mirror to see him scooting over in the backseat, offering a half-embrace of comfort to his new dead friend. "Yer mama'll be alright, jus'—trust the ol' Farm Witch over here, she'll make sure that asshole gets what's comin' to 'im. And if she don't, I'll haunt her extra hard. Jus' fer you. How's that sound?"

To Beth's relief, that actually elicited a weak laugh from Frankie. She sniffled and nodded, wiping away the tears from her cheeks, and Beth quickly looked back to Rick and the phone in his hand.

For some reason, she felt like she'd witnessed something private. Not to mention, she was uncomfortable seeing Merle in this new light. She'd thought so low of him all this time, and now he wanted to be a half-decent human being? Now that she knew he was doomed to Hell and some form of eternal suffering? It made her heart ache in an entirely unfamiliar way.

Rick sighed sadly and spoke into the phone, "I know what'cha mean. Just hang tough, Ford. Somethin's gotta give eventually. Assholes like this don't get away with it forever. The truth'll come out, even if ya gotta pry it from his cold, dead lips."

Abe barked out a laugh and agreed heartily, "Damn straight. Alrigh', I gotta get goin'. Gotta get my search team together an' make sure we get over there before Shitlips orders his nightly pizza delivery. Thanks fer the tips, I'll text ya if we find anythin'. Keep your eyes out for those news reports, though. Those vultures will prob'ly know about it before I even get a chance to pull my damn phone out."

"Got it," Rick said. "Good luck, talk to ya later." And with that, he pressed End Call and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Beth sat back in her seat and heaved a deep sigh, suddenly realizing her whole body had been tense throughout the entire phone call. "Now what?"

Rick shrugged, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and staring straight ahead. "Now we hope they find that damn burner phone an' track down the mistress."

"What?" Frankie spoke up, slightly indignant. "That's it? No, that can't be it. You need to take them to the dumpster, Beth. Before it gets emptied out. What if his girlfriend doesn't talk, even if they find her? My mom won't know what happened if they never find the bat or my phone. She's worrying herself sick over this! She's probably not sleeping or eating—she doesn't deserve to be left without closure like that! And you promised! You promised you'd help!"

Beth squeezed her eyes shut, nodding slowly. There was no way she could say no to this woman. Especially when she was bringing her mom into the argument. Beth could only imagine how tortured her own mother would've been to know one of her children had been murdered and the killer was never even arrested.

Florence's words echoed in her head: "Not all those who wander are lost…"

Frankie wasn't lost. She knew exactly what needed to be done. She just needed help. And Beth was the only one who could help her.

She opened her eyes and turned to Rick with a look of determination. "That's not enough. We have to do more. We have to lead 'em to the dumpster. The murder weapon, the phone. Everybody needs to know what Negan did. Frankie's mom deserves to know."

"Well, Beth, you said it yerself: we can't give 'em all that information without soundin' either loony or suspicious. Or both," he argued gently. "It kills me, too, knowin' her mama might not get closure, but—"

She shook her head. "I don't care! Isn't there an anonymous tip line or something?"

"Yeah, it's anonymous," he confirmed. "But if you go givin' 'em exact coordinates to a stash of evidence, they'll trace your phone an' bring you in for questioning. The technology game is on a whole new level these days. You heard it from Eugene himself, an' we both got a glimpse at what kinda equipment they're workin' with. They won't spare any expense to make sure they've got an airtight prosecution."

She huffed out a frustrated breath, racking her brain for some kind of solution.

Then Merle chimed in, "Are y'all stupid or just blind?"

Beth groaned. "What now, Merle? You got some kinda genius idea for once?"

"Uh, yeah," he countered. "Weren't y'all just talkin' 'bout burner phones? Christ, it's a good thing yer pretty, 'cause ya ain't exactly bright."

She couldn't even process his insult past the lightbulb that had just flicked on above her head.

Crap. He was kinda right, actually. The answer was right in front of them.

"Oh my god," she breathed out, sitting up straight and looking around to figure out exactly where they were on the road back to Senoia.

"What?" Rick asked, brows knitting together in concern.

"A burner phone!" Beth said. "That's what we need! I can get a burner phone, call the tip line, tell 'em everything, and then ditch it as soon as I hang up. I could…"

Frankie eagerly suggested, "You could say you're Negan's girlfriend, or-or a close friend or something. Tell 'em he confessed everything to you. It might even make his actual girlfriend talk once they find her!"

"Holy shit." Beth couldn't help the grin that was spreading across her face as she turned to Rick triumphantly. "Yeah, that's it! I'll lie and say I'm Negan's girlfriend or close friend, that he confessed to me after the murder and I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

Rick's eyes went wide and he inadvertently stepped down on the gas pedal a little too hard, quickly catching himself and slowing back down to the speed limit. "Well I'll be damned, Beth, that's a—that's a goddamn brilliant idea. It might even loosen the lips of the actual mistress if they're able to track 'er down." He grinned back at her. "Christ, that's two birds with one stone!"

"Y'all can thank me later," Merle remarked coolly from the backseat. "And Frankie. She ain't just pretty, she's fuckin' smart, too." He turned to Frankie and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Shit, Jessica Rabbit, y'really are the whole package, ain't'cha?"

Frankie scoffed and shook her head, but Beth could see the blush rising in her cheeks when she glanced back at the other woman over her shoulder.

"How 'bout I thank you both now," Beth said, shooting them both grateful looks. "Even you, Merle. You actually made yourself useful for once. I could get used to this new character trait yer showin' all of a sudden."

Merle cackled and quipped back, "Don't get used to it. I jus' want'cha to solve red's dilemma ASAP so you can go back to focusin' all yer attention on me—where it should be."

Beth half-heartedly replied, "There ya go with that first-born syndrome again."

It earned a soft chuckle from Frankie and a humph of indignation from Merle.

But Beth was already looking out the window for signs that pointed towards the exit which would take them to one of the towns not far from Senoia. Somewhere that she knew had a store that sold cheap phones.

to be continued…