"Yes, Emma. I think you know why I asked you here."
"It's that silly picture with Jon, the Intergalactic Gladiator?"
"Why yes it is," I answered. "You must have read my mind."
"Now Charles, you know I'd never read anyone's mind without their permission."
"Of course not, Emma. Neither would I. It's just not ethical."
We both looked at each, managing to keep our faces straight for about 20 seconds before we roared with laughter.
After we had composed ourselves, I continued. "Emma, I'm going to need to mind meld with you. I have to know what happened with Jon."
Shrugging, she started to slip off her bodice. "Er, no," I said hastily. "I just need to read your mind."
"Oh?" she said, shrugging again. She stopped disrobing.
As I stared at her half-exposed body, I wrestled with my conscious. Then the insistant, angry voice of Jon's wife intruded on my thoughts. Better keep this professional, at least for the moment.
After I had probed Emma twice, I realized whoever was behind this scandel was more devious than I had thought. Emma was summoned by someone she thought was me out of Chicago the night the picture was taken. The Emma in that picture was a fake!