The Clerk
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 18: I Won’t Do It
Sheriff Collins set the clothes down on the cot, then turned to leave.
“Is she still here?” I asked.
He knew why I was asking—I wanted to see her.
“No,” he said. “She dropped off the clothes and left. Outside of your attorney, you’re not allowed visitors. At least not right now.”
“Did she look okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “She looked fine. She was with Kirkland’s son.”
He was talking about Andrew.
Walking over to the door, he hesitated for a moment and then turned back toward me. “I have to follow the law on this,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“Sims is a good attorney,” he added. “You’re in the best hands you could be.”
I nodded again.
He let out a long sigh, then stepped closer and gestured for me to scoot over. He sat down beside me on the cot.
I looked at him.
“Not afraid I’m going to attack you?” I asked. “I’ve been threatening people for years, you know,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
I gave him a look. “My aunt was crazy—must mean my sister and I are, too.”
He glanced over at me. “You’re as violent as your aunt was,” he said, his expression distant, like he was remembering something.
“I’m ... I’m not my father,” he added, meeting my eyes.
“I know,” I replied. I knew exactly what he meant.
“The store was closed for weeks,” I told him. “She put everything she had into it. And she struggled. Everyday. And I know we didn’t help—we just got dumped on her. But she made it work.”
He looked down and didn’t say anything.
“If it wasn’t for people in the community who helped—repairing the bookcases, donating books, replacing the windows—she ... she wouldn’t have been able to reopen,” I went on. “And even then, she never really recovered.”
I kept looking at him, “Do you know how devastating that was? What that did to her? That place was all she had.”
“I got a job as soon as I was allowed to work so I could help her,” I added. “I didn’t want—I wouldn’t let her lose the store.”
I needed him to know that I knew.
I sat on the landing of the apartment that night, staring into the store below. I made Susan stay in our bedroom under the bed so she’d be safe. We told her we’d been robbed, that the place had been vandalized. That’s what the police report said.
But I saw what really happened.
That night, his father showed up with those deputies and destroyed the bookstore. They threw over and cracked bookcases. Punched holes in the walls. Smashed the windows. Terrorized my aunt, threatening that if she didn’t turn over the evidence she had, they’d burn it all down with us inside—make it look like an accident.
The only thing that kept them from eventually entering the apartment and doing the same thing was that someone had called the police—Andrew’s father. I remembered hearing the deputies shouting, “Kirkland, he’s heading this way—he’s got a shotgun!” Then they all rushed out of the store and disappeared down the street.
He was protective of my aunt. There was never anything between them, but she had shown him kindness—compassion after his wife left him—and I don’t think he ever forgot that.
“I’ll help you however I can,” the sheriff said. “You’re not the only ones who’ve had to deal with the Claire’s.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. Because we also had to deal with the Collins’s.
He then stood up.
“I’ll give you thirty minutes,” he said. “Then I’ll come back. You’ll need to go to the courthouse in transport restraints.”
I nodded again and looked up at him. I knew he could see it all—the sadness, the anger, the disgust written across my face. I’d done my best to hide it over the years whenever I ran into him, but right now it was on full display.
He stepped out, and I heard the heavy lock click behind him.
I reached for the clothes. Susan had brought one of my dresses—more of a business dress, really, the kind you’d wear with a jacket. There was a package with Sheer Energy pantyhose, my blocky three-inch heels, and a clear zip bag with some makeup and a brush inside.
Standing, I splashed water on my face, trying to shake off the exhaustion. I hadn’t slept much last night. The cot was fine, but sleeping in a cell wasn’t exactly restful—not with my mind racing. Thinking about Susan.
But I knew she was safe with Andrew and Sophie. Mostly Andrew. They’d grown up together, and like me, he was protective of her.
Everyone knew you didn’t mess with the Kirklands. That’s why the deputies ran that night—more out of fear than concern about being caught. They knew better than to pick a fight with the Kirklands on their terms, on their ground. And even though they closed up early to avoid trouble, everyone understood that their store was the last place anyone with bad intentions should ever walk into.
And then there was Bambi. Her sister had been so angry. Deep down, I knew I’d never see her again. And if I did, she’d probably be on the arm of some gorgeous guy, being her cute, quirky self.
I smiled, thinking about how serious she’d looked when she told me she wasn’t on birth control and that I might have gotten her pregnant. The funny thing was, I would’ve been okay with that.
I got dressed. Stepped back, trying to see myself in the small mirror. I put on some makeup and fixed my hair.
Susan had picked a good outfit—simple, professional, court-appropriate. I smiled a little. Maybe all those years of talking to her about clothes had finally sunk in.
Well, except for the hose. Sheer hose would’ve worked so much better. But I knew she knew that. I think this was her way of getting back at me for all the times I’d made her wear them—with outfits like this, especially with open-toe heels.
I sat back down and slipped on the shoes. They felt clunky—not uncomfortable, just different. After weeks of wearing four- and five-inch stilettos, these felt almost foreign.
Sitting there, legs crossed, I waited, glancing down at them. Then I smiled. Okay, sis, I thought as I realized what she’d done. She knew I probably wouldn’t be able to shave, and the sheer pantyhose would cover up any tiny bit of razor stubble on my legs.
A minute or so later, there was a knock.
“I’m decent,” I called.
The door opened, and the sheriff stepped in, holding a handful of metal.
“Ready?” he asked.
I stood. “Shouldn’t one of your deputies be doing this?”
“Hana’s on leave,” he said. “Hermie’s been covering the station. Would you rather he do it?”
I gave him a faint smile and held out my wrists.
He locked the cuffs on and placed them in a bluish lockbox that closed with a metal clip. Once my wrists were secured to my waist, he had me kneel so he could fasten the ankle restraints, then helped me back up.
Putting them on someone else was definitely a different experience than being locked in them yourself. Just kneeling was a challenge—I realized how hard it really was to balance when you couldn’t use your hands. Then my mind briefly drifted back to Bambi.
I took a few tentative steps.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, adjusting to the position, realizing just how restrictive it was—how my hands were practically useless pinned against my waist. “I’m fine. I can walk okay.”
But then it got worse. I shifted my wrists and felt the way the box forced my hands into an awkward, painful angle.
“We don’t have the angled ones here,” he said, catching my look. “Not exactly standard-issue stuff.”
He continued, “More used by those who are involved in constant transports. It’s not the kind of thing we do here. Usually, handcuffs are enough—even to the courthouse.”
“Glad to know I’m special,” I told him.
He nodded with a slight smile—maybe at my humor. I wasn’t sure.
“Just ... uh ... just relax your hands the best you can,” he instructed. “Given the charges, and since it’s only an arraignment, you’ll likely have to stay in them while in the courtroom.”
He then took my arm gently and led me out of the cell, down the hallway, and through the same metal door I’d entered yesterday—back when the deputy had brought me in after I’d spoken with Jeffrey.
As he led me out into the main area, he told me to stand near a desk while he grabbed his keys and hat. That’s when we both noticed the deputy arguing with a woman.
Mrs. Langley.
Lovely, I thought. Just perfect.
The deputy had his hands up, gesturing for her to calm down. After a few moments, he walked over to speak with the sheriff, who pointed him toward his office. While they talked, Mrs. Langley spotted me—and, of course, came straight over.
“Anne?” she said, her voice full of surprise but her eyes lighting up with curiosity. She looked like she’d just stumbled onto a scandal instead of a person in handcuffs.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this. Did something happen?”
“I thought it was your sister who had to wear those,” she said. “I ... I didn’t realize it was really you.”
I sighed. Talking to her was the last thing I wanted, but she confirmed—again—that people were talking about Susan, and that she was in the restraints because she had to be, because it was somehow required. Once more, people just assumed the worst, or made-up whatever story fit best in their heads.
“Megan Claire and her friends filed charges,” I said flatly. “They’re claiming I’ve been threatening them. So, I was arrested. Sherrif Collins is taking me to the courthouse now.”
“Oh my,” she said, leaning in a little. “Someone had told me that your sister’s been seen in chains like that—you know, like that woman at the museum? They said she wears them to keep everyone safe. I guess she confused the two of you.”
Of course she was fishing. She knew there was no confusing us. Susan and I don’t look anything alike. People in town can clearly tell us apart.
“Susan’s in them for different reasons,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Not law enforcement related. She’s not required to wear them.”
“Oh. I see,” she replied, clearly disappointed I hadn’t given her more. “But you are?”
“Yes,” I said. “Like I told you—I’ve been arrested.”
“Well, it just seems so ... excessive,” she commented, eyes flicking over the restraints.
“Given that I’m accused of threatening people,” I said, shifting my wrists, “I guess this is to make sure I don’t hurt anyone.”
I winced a little as my wrists tugged against the cuffs in the box, then looked her in the eye.
“As you can see,” I said, tilting my head slightly, “they work pretty well.”
She nodded.
“Does that mean you’ll both be in them now?” she asked.
Before I had a chance to answer, we were interrupted.
“Mrs. Langley,” Sheriff Collins said as he walked over with the deputy.
“We’ve talked about this a number of times now,” he began, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “There is no conspiracy to steal your roses.”
“Sheriff Collins,” she replied, indignant. “Some of my roses have disappeared, and all of a sudden, the floral shop downtown is selling the exact same ones.”
“Mrs. Langley, we’ve spoken with them,” he said patiently. “They get their flowers from a distributor. They showed us the receipts.”
She huffed and crossed her arms.
“The deputy will take your statement again,” he said, nodding toward the desk. “He’ll add it to the case file, alright?”
Then he turned back to me, placing a light hand on my arm.
“If you’ll excuse me—” he told Mrs. Langley.
He walked me out to the back of his SUV and helped me inside. The drive was quiet. We talked a little about some of the locals and the nutty things he’d had to deal with—I think he was venting. Outside of that, he didn’t say much, just glancing at me now and then through the rearview mirror.
When we got to the courthouse, he parked out front in a spot marked for law enforcement.
“Can we go in through the back?” I asked.
“There’s no back entrance here,” he said, looking at me in the mirror. “Small-town courthouse. Everyone goes in the front.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” I muttered. “Langley’s going to spread the news of my arrest. Everyone will know in a few days.”
I added, “And that I have to be in these.” I lifted my wrists slightly until the waist chain stopped them. I wasn’t trying to make a point—it just happened. I wasn’t used to being like this. It ... it was just awkward, having your hands restrained like this. But there was more to it—what people were going to think.
“Everyone’s just going to think I’m dangerous. Not exactly the kind of thing that helps a small bookstore.”
He looked at me in the mirror.
“It’s what people think of Bounds,” he said—that curator at the museum. “And they’ve seen an uptick in visitors. I hear your sister’s been attracting attention at the bookstore, too.”
He wasn’t being mean, or malicious, or judging. I think he was just pointing out that maybe I was being hypercritical.
That it was okay for my sister to be locked in restraints. That was fine—good for business. But not me. That was bad for business.
There was more to it than that. With Susan, she needed to be in them. The extra foot traffic—that was just a nice side effect.
But the thing is ... he was still right.
He helped me out, and we walked up together. Inside, the main lobby fell quiet.
People stared. Probably because I was the only one in restraints. Well ... restrained like I was.
There was a woman already going through the security checkpoint, her hands cuffed behind her. But I was the only one with my hands locked at my waist and in leg cuffs. And the connecting chain didn’t help.
The courthouse officers were polite but all business. One of the male guards asked me to take off my heels for inspection, but before I could, Sheriff Collins stepped in.
“I’ve already checked everything myself,” he told them. “She’s fine.”
They didn’t look thrilled about it, but they didn’t argue either. From there, I was led away.
“If you’re not released,” Sheriff Collins said as I was escorted past the checkpoint, “I’ll take you back to the station.”
I nodded.
They put me in a holding area—a room with benches. There were guards stationed at each end. Everyone in there was restrained in one way or another, though some more heavily than others.
I was probably the most conspicuous. I was the one who looked like I had just been brought in from another state—as if I’d been restrained for some really long trip. I looked like I had come from a federal prison.
But as restrained as I was, I could at least move around—even though I’d been told to sit.
The woman next to me wasn’t so lucky. She was the one I’d seen earlier in the lobby area. Her hands were still cuffed behind her, but they were chained to the bench—the same way I’d been yesterday when I first arrived at the station.
“What’d you do?” the woman beside me asked, glancing over.
I knew she recognized me from earlier—she had looked at me and smiled. Not that it was hard to notice me. Like I said, I was the one most accessorized.
“Accused of threatening people,” I said.
“Wow.” Her eyes widened.
She was about to say something else when an officer walked over.
“Vail,” he called.
I nodded, and he led me through another set of doors into the courtroom.
He sat me down next to Jeffrey.