A mystery in St. Louis (a Lackadaisy fanfic)

It's over

The cats soon arrived at their destination. The house was dark and quiet, and a car could be heard driving away. "Okay, you go in through here," Francis said to Bluebeard, nodding at the cat door. "And I'll go straight into the study via the window."

"Who should I go with?" Rocky asked.

"You go on ahead, kid," Bluebeard said. "I'll be fine on my own."

"Okay but be careful."

"Same to you two." He nodded, slipping into the door.

Gulping nervously, I trotted after Francis, and they both crawled up a tree next to the house. 'This is it. We're going into the house of the murderer. What will we find? What evidence could his computer hold?... What if we're wrong, and he becomes another victim? What if we don't make it out alive?

They finally found the windows leading to the study. Francis pushed one of them open and crawled in. Rocky came in too, and pushed the window shut. "So, he won't escape," he explained.

"Hmm. Good thinking." She nodded, booting up the computer. She found a file marked "FELIDAE." "This must be it." She tried to enter it, but a screen asking for a password popped up. Grumbling under her breath, she typed in "Felidae," but the password was denied.

As she tried another word, Her ears perked up at a yell. "Bluebeard!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

"Shhh!" Rocky exclaimed, the fur on his back standing on end. "Someone might hear you!"

"But—"

"He'll be fine!" He snapped, "You focus on getting this thing open."

"It needs a password," she sighed returning to the screen, "The password would have to be unforgettable, a daily reminder of why he does what he does."

"Did you try Preterius?" he asked.

Francis typed it in and the file opened with a "ding," and files of dozens of cats appeared.

"Rocky, you're a genius!" Francis smiled.

"It was nothing." he shook his head. "Just a simple guess."

Francis glanced over the files, reading out loud, "Number 278. Pascha. June 18th, 1926. 12:30 AM. Four attempts to mate with Tragiyahn. Four attempts to dissuade him were in vain.'"

Rocky's ears perked up at some familiar names. "Number 447. Felicity. November 29th, 1927. 5:45 AM. She knew too much, and had to go.' 'Number 448. Solitaire. November 30th, 1927. 2:50 AM. I discovered she was pregnant with Khromolhkhan's kits. She was of an undesired breed, and her young would have polluted the pedigree of Felidae.' 'Number 449. Joker. December 1st, 1927. 12:00 PM. My successor is getting nearer to solving the murders...'"

"...You were right, Franky," Rocky sighed. "The killer had to ensure that the selected females were bred with the right males to continue the Felidae breed; if any outsiders attempted... they had to be exterminated."

"Felicity was an exception though. She knew too much." Francis added. "But what about Joker? And what does he mean, 'success—'"

"Have you solved the puzzle now?" A voice asked.

Rocky and Francis turned and saw a familiar Brown Havana poke his head out from around the corner: Pascal...or so he said he was.

"We have indeed, Claudandus," Francis sneered. "But I'm afraid we still have a few holes to fill in. Perhaps you would like to help us out?"

"What did you do to Bluebeard?"

Pascal chuckled and said "I always thought Francour would be the one to get it first. But, then again, I knew you were smarter, you knew more. Ever since the word Felidae escaped your breath."