Home Alone by Todd Strasser, John Hughes Read Free Book Online Page A

shouted. "Darn, these shoplifters get younger all the time!"
    Shoplifter ? Kevin stopped on the sidewalk and turned. But he wasn't a . . .
    A police car came around the corner. The old lady was pointing at Kevin. The police car stopped and a cop got out.
    "See that boy?" the old lady shouted. "He just robbed my store!"
    Kevin's eyes went wide. That was a lie! Why was she saying that? But the police officer was coming toward him and he was big and scary. Kevin turned and ran as fast as he could down the sidewalk. Ahead people were skating on the pond. Kevin raced toward them and dove stomach first, like Pete Rose. Skaters jumped out of the way as he shot across the ice.
    Behind him the policeman hit the ice and flipped backward. Then two skaters fell on top of him.
    Kevin reached the other side of the pond and raced down the street. He passed Santa's Village and the church and had to run around the life-sized nativity scene of Joseph and Mary and the little drummer boy standing over the manger. He turned down Rivard Street and headed toward his house, cutting through backyards.
    Finally he jumped over a fence into his own backyard. He quickly pulled open the kitchen door, then slammed it behind him and leaned against it, trembling. As he slowly calmed down he became aware of something in his clenched hand. Kevin looked down. The toothbrush ! He felt a new wave of fright wash over him. He really was in trouble. Not only had he made his family disappear, but now the police would be after him.
    "I'm a criminal," he whispered.
    Meanwhile, in the Bensons' house next to old man Marley's place, two real criminals were hard at work taking what wasn't theirs.
    "I'm telling you," Harry said as he dumped out the Bensons' dresser drawers on the bedroom floor. "There's something screwy about that McCallister house."
    "But we saw the lights go on," Marv said. " After the timer lights."
    "Yeah, but here's what I figure," Harry said. "These People know us burglars know about those timers. So if this guy McCallister is smart, he gets two timers. So the first one turns on a few lights and we think it's the timer. But when the second set of lights go on we're supposed to think it's real people."
    "That's pretty advanced thinking," Marv said. "I say we just forget the McCallister place."
    "I'm tellin' you, Marv, that house is ripe," said Harry.
    Just then the phone rang and the Bensons' answering machine clicked on. Both crooks stared at it.
    "Hello, you have reached the home of Bill, Betsy, Bonnie, and Barry Benson, but we're not here. Please leave your name and phone number after the beep and we'll get back to you as soon possible"
    The caller started to speak. "Hi, it's Peter McCallister again. We're at my brother's apartment in Paris. The number here is—"
    Marv stepped over and turned off the speaker. He smiled at Harry. "Okay, You're right. They're in Paris. The guy's just got two timers going. When do you want to hit the place?"
    "Suppose we finish up this side of the street first," Harry said. "Then we'll do it. Like I always say, save the best for last."

December 23

    Orly Airport

    8:30 P.M. (Paris Time)
    Kate had put herself on standby for no less than fifteen flights back to the States and hadn't come close to getting on any of them. She couldn't stop thinking of Kevin, alone, frightened, helpless in that house. What a terrifying experience for a seven-year-old. It was probably doing irreversible psychological damage to him. She imagined coming home and finding him curled up in a corner sucking his thumb.
    Kate was starting to feel desperate. And that meant taking desperate action. A flight to Chicago was scheduled to leave in half an hour. The waiting list was so long the airline wouldn't even let her put her name on it. But there were other ways to get on board.
    Kate spotted a plump middle-aged woman carrying a heavy handbag and wearing a Chicago Cubs baseball cap. The woman was headed for the Chicago departure gate . . . until