Whodunnit!

Have you read that latest poem,
Called Mass Murder Without A Clue.
With over one hundred bumped off.
And that's not even half-way through.

It sold every reader a dummy,
Pulling us which way and that.
The way we've been manipulated,
Like subterfuge's dirty doormat.

For we never did see it coming,
After the lollipop man was slain.
We all thought he coldly did it,
When that bomb blew up that plane.

Then our money was on that priest,
Who so dearly loved to misbehave.
Going the way of the beauty queen,
Grisly discovered in a shallow grave.

It just had to be the junkie doctor,
Who loved taking all his own pills.
And died with over fifty stab wounds,
No medical cure for those deadly ills.

We assumed the bigmouth housekeeper,
With endless tales of the haunted house.
But when guests opened that hot oven,
She was found more quiet than a mouse.

Its got to be that tall staring gardener,
Always carrying sharp shears in his hands.
Who was found on three windowsills,
And everywhere else on the mansion lands.

My money was on that devious maid,
Who stole expensive necklaces of gold.
But her neck snapped like a twig,
From the crazed killer's stranglehold.

Surely it's that repugnant actress,
Who treated everyone like a fool.
Found clubbed to death by her Oscar,
A  unique and glitzy murder tool.

It's obviously that sweet singing nun,
Knives and guns hidden in her guitar.
But she was tied to the railway-line
Then severed in two by that freight car.

Surely it must be those creepy twins,
Who collected those murder obituaries.
But the poison gas birthday present,
Left them both dead as mine canaries.

Then that most cliched old chestnut,
That tired adage of 'the butler did it'.
Somehow just didn't ring true when,
He was pushed in that scolding tar pit.

So its got to be old man Smithers,
Who owns the Scooby Doo amusement park.
To be  grisly found at The Log Flume,
Weighed down six feet below its watermark.

We thought it was the hot-dog vendor,
But then he squeezed out the mustard.
Then he and his stand both exploded,
Terminally becoming as cold as custard.

Without a doubt it's that circus clown,
His performance was a total disgrace.
Who after kids cried not laughed awoke,
In the lions cage with no hiding place.

The clues were so clearly obvious,
All simply staring us in the face.
After the poetry critics and spammers,
Were bricked up behind the bookcase.

But I shall not tell you the ending,
That concludes my murderous dictation.
For it's always the one you least expect,
The one simply left to your imagination...