Perhaps it was fate that it was two long lost lovers that saw her first.

Mark and Amy. They had met one summer in Ocean City. She was working running the ticket booth at one of the attractions during the day, and waitressing at night. He was the nephew of the son in law of the owner of one of the hotels. He was working as a doorman.

They'd spent every moment they could together, until summer ended. And they had to go their separate ways.

Now, five years later they had reunited by chance, somehow checking into the same hotel in rooms right across the hall from each other. For the two weeks since then, they'd been inseparable. Today was the last day of their vacation, and so they'd gone for a walk along the canal. Each not wanting the day to end. Each wishing with all their hearts that they did not have to part again. Each knowing, that they must.

It was mid-September, and the leaves were beginning to turn. As they walked, hand in hand, Amy looked out across the Potomac and saw it. A small boat, similar in size and shape to a canoe, drifted rudderless down the surface of the river.

“What is that?” she wondered aloud.

As she and Mark watched, the boat drifted closer to shore. Close enough for them to see the occupant. The lady lay prone, hands clasped on her stomach, a bouquet of some sort clutched in one. Her flame red hair spread out like a halo about her head. She looked for all the world, in peaceful slumber. But if one looked closely, they would see that she was not breathing.

“Hello?” Mark called. “Miss are you okay?” No answer, no movement. He began to make his way down the back towards the craft.

“Mark, be careful.” his lover cautioned.

Before he could reach the boat however, the eddies of the current pulled it away. It resumed it's journey in the center of the river. They watched it disappear from view.

The first to report it was Carl the sanitation engineer, and his ten year old son Travis. Carl was a widower, his wife having died in childbirth. He missed her terribly, but every time he looked at his boy, he felt her presence.

The boat was a wedding gift from his father in law, who'd made it by hand. He'd finished it the day before Travis was born.

“Boat comin' dad.” the boy said. He set his fishing pole aside and watched curiously as the smaller craft passed alongside. His father joined him and his eyes widened at the sight of the lady. Her lustrous black hair accentuated the paleness of her skin, which seemed to lifelike, Carl could scarce believe what his eyes were telling him. That the lady was dead.

Travis reached out to the tiny boat, but Carl stopped him. “No, don't.” his tone was businesslike, and hushed. “We don't know how she died, and I've seen the cop shows. We shouldn't corrupt the evidence. Keep watching it, I'll call it in.”

A DC police boat finally stopped it, just past the Kennedy Center. Carl had been the first to report it, but he hadn't been the last.

Sgt. Robert Matthews was the first to touch her. Even through the latex gloves he could tell that her skin was soft and smooth, flawless as a porcelain doll. A single strand of golden hair had been blown by a stray breeze across her face. He gently brushed it aside, and noted to himself;

“My God, she's beautiful.”

Robert was a decorated officer, who had had the misfortune of falling in love with his captain's wife. He got the boat and girl to shore, and watched as the medical examiner and her assistants loaded the Lady into the van.

They were never able to identify her. Her fingerprints did not match any on record. No one came forward to claim her, though the news rant her picture and the story for a month. Finally, the furor died down, and the media lost interest.

But those who had seen her, remembered. The mystery passed from mouth to ear, from person to person. The mystery endured. And thus, the lady lived on.