Poem: Whodunit

Being rich and old
Has no fun in it
As you lay cold
Victim, in the whodunit

Time for inspector Morse
To array the entire household
It could have been worse
Were it assigned to Clouseau

Could it be the wife
Wondered the detective
All those years of strife
Being sufficient motive

Why did the family dog
In the night not bark?
He wrote down in his log
Wait, that's from another lark

The son sure looked shifty
With his gold-digger shill
He stood to gain some booty
As stated in his Dad's will

In the house were a total of nine
The detective solemnly counted
”One of you is mine
For this crime accounted

How about the half-brother
Looking sad, sullen and thin
Abused by his mother
Blacksheep to kith and kin

If this story were in the U.S
It would end with guns blazing
But since it is British
We'll settle for endless hazing

The old man's new mistress
Suddenly made an entrance
Causing the family distress
And Morse to view her askance

These are all red herrings
For there is an overriding clue
In a comfortable mystery reading
The formula always holds true

Its not the upset spouse
Nor the brother-half
Not the greedy louse
Nor the kitchen staff

Surely at the end of the game
The suspect will guilt admit
For it is quite satisfying to claim
“The butler indeed did it"!