What do you think of this story i wrote?

I’m twelve years old and i’m a very expeirenced reader, and probably read a dozen stories every week. I wrote this story on my own, no help… what do you think?

The phone startled her so much when it rang, that Liz Roberts dropped the coffee mug she was clutching so tightly. She watched it sink into the floor, spread, and make a dark stain. A few droplets had landed on her fair skinned leg, but she didn’t cry out; It just did not hurt her. She walked into the kitchen and got a wet paper towel, ignoring the phone. She looked sharply at it, then carried the rag back to the sitting room and pressed roughly on the stain.
Liz was a detective and worked for Arizona Police department and had for several years. Liz was twenty four, and started working at twenty one. Liz was an old soul. She did things how she wanted, and when she wanted. That was her main policy, in work and when she was at home.
After a couple of minutes, the phone was strangely still ringing. Bewildered, Liz made her way to the phone and looked at the ID. Mililani,
Paul, it read. She pressed the talk button and held it to her pierced ear. “Hello?” she said in her methodic voice.
“This is Detective Paul Mililani, and we need you at the station,” the voice rasped.
“The station?” asked Liz.
“Yes, Roberts.”
“I’m sorry, but, I’ve never heard of you Mr. Mililani. Could you put some other detective that I do knew on the line, please?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Hello!” Liz screamed. But she was already listening to the dial tone. Liz gulped and set the phone on the hook. Liz Genevieve Roberts was not someone to get scared at a silly crank call, but for some reason Joyce’s heart thumped. She never felt more frightened at a phone call then this time. She didn’t know why, but she felt extremely scared.

The next day, Liz walked to her van and started in on the road. She passed huckleberry bushes as the sun rose into the sky, the Arizona heat beating down on her black Ferrari. She switched on the air-conditioning, and the radio.
“A young detective of the name Paul Mililani was killed late last night during a phone call with another detective with the name of Liz Roberts. Police think that somebody crept into the station after hours and killed Mililani,” the radio blared.
Liz’s blood ran cold, and sweat dripped down her forehead. She gulped and switched off the radio and continued driving. She checked her back window again and again, for some unknown reason. Liz felt beside herself. She had never felt this frightened.
A low cry escaped her lips and she was speeding, speeding down the dirt road. Get out of here!

Finally when she arrived at the station, she felt calmer then she had, but her heart was still abeating. She took a deep breath and entered the room.
Secretaries rushed about, and detectives were speaking to maybe culprits.
It was an ordinary day, but Liz couldn’t help feeling different.
“Detective Roberts?” Liz turned around and nodded at her personal secretary, Martha.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll be in my office.”
She walked in side her spacey office and breathed a sigh of relief. She was around people, and that she was glad. She hated feeling alone at night, miles away from humanity. She thought about moving into the city.
She took a seat in her comfortable office chair that was made of leather, and took a look around. She had stacks of paper piled on her desk and practically nothing else. There was a phone too that she took for calls during the day, and also some personal folders about cases and other important things. She had a simple desktop computer she used occasionally and a coaster for beverages.
She turned around in her chair and took a look outside her window, where the birds were singing, but the cars swished by, and people walked about.
The door opened with a creak. She expected it to be Martha.
“Set it on the desk, please,” she ordered.
“It’s not your assistant, Roberts!” said a voice.
She spun around and discovered it be a old friend of hers, Lars McCaskey.
A large grin stretched across his mouth. “Good to see ya, Liz. It been a long, long time.”
“So it has,” she agreed. Lars McCaskey had nothing in common with she. He had white suede jeans and a giant blue flowery top, with a cow boy hat and sandals. He was very, very tan, whereas Liz was wearing a gray pencil skirt and a button up white shirt, with a matching blazer and black peep toes. She was very white. It was so as if they were dressed for differententchal occasions.
“So, Lars, what I might do for you?”
“Why, I’ve some news for you.”
“What it be?”
He looked around and lowered his voice.
“Take a seat there, right there, in the seat, Lars.”
“Okay. Well anyway, I was off in Texas in the desert doing some work for my job, and I found somethin’ incredible, indeed.”
“And what might that be?”
“An enormous bone, something no archeologist has never found.”
“How big?” she
asked, becoming interested.
He spread open his arms as wide as he could. “At least one hundred and ninety of these,” he said, gesturing to his open arms.
“Wow,” she murmured, getting the picture. He wanted her to come look at it.
“Well, Lars, I’d like to see this bone.”
“Well, good, ‘cause I was gonna invite ya’ anyways.”
“When?”
“A few weeks, maybe.”
“Sounds like a plan. Listen, Lars, I’ve enjoyed your visit, but I’ve got to get to work. I’ll call you,” she promised.
He grinned. “Of course, Liz. I’ll speak to Ya’ later, hear?”
“I hear,” she said and smiled.

A week later, Lars was reported dead; murdered, actually, found in his laboratory.

Liz couldn’t put the pieces together. One minute, she was talking to someone, and the next, they were dead and gone. It Didn’t make sense. So many murders in just two short weeks!
Who was going to be next, and when will it happen?

The next morning at her office, after a long, grueling journey from her home seventy
minutes away, Liz gathered papers about the two murders together and tried to compare them.
Hmm. They had nothing in common, accept how they were found. Both murdered, alone in a huge space. If the next murder was like this, they could probably search places like these and link it to the killer.
She needed to hire a physic, somebody that could figure out these surprising and deplorable deaths. She rang her secretary, Martha, and requested that she find a meritorious physic.
“Certainly, Ms. Roberts,” Martha said warmly. “And I’ll get some coffee, yes?” she left without her answer.
A couple of hours later, Martha reported that she found a physic that she thought could do the job. “Send her in,” Liz ordered.
“It’s a him, actually,” Martha said, surprising Joyce.
“Certainly. Send him in, please.”
A man that looked about twenty-seven with a brown crew cut and dark brown suit entered the room. He looked like the sort of man that when talked, was listened. The sort of man that
Liz liked. She admired him instantly.
“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “My name is Derek Petey,” he added. He had a throaty talk that Liz liked, and it was very pleasant.
“Nice to meet you, Derek,” she said. “My name is Elizabeth Roberts,” she said. “Of course, you can call me Liz, like everyone else does.”
Martha spoke up peevishly. “You two know each other?”
“Only by reputation,” Derek responded.
Liz nodded. “So, you’re a physic, Derek?”
He nodded. “Unfortunately.”
“You don’t like it?” This news appalled Joyce tremendously.
“Yes,” he said and frowned. “It’s so confusing. But, it certainly comes in handy!”
Liz smiled. This man made her shiver in delight, for some reason. Usually, she disliked men and stayed away from them at all costs, unless they were about business; But this man was different. He had a very business like aura, and he was nice. Liz would love to marry him.
No! Don’t mix business with pleasure, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t stop the shivers of delight that run up her spine every time she looked at Derek. She told him all about the story of the two untimely, but horrible deaths of the innocent people. He nodded and stroked his chin once in a while. He shook his head.
“So?” she said eagerly, after she’d finished the story and was waiting for an answer. “Will you help us?”
He stroked his chin for the umpteenth time. “Possibly.” He frowned. “According to my schedule, I have many appointments that I need to get to that might get in the way of when you need me to be here.”
“Oh no, Derek. You come whenever you fancy.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“But, you might need to come when officers or other detectives need you here,” Martha piped up. Liz shot Martha a glare that told her to back off, and get out.
She left the room.
“Well, she walked out,” Liz said.
Derek frowned again. “I’m afraid I have to follow s
uit.”
“Well, I can call you, right?” Liz asked hopefully.
“Of course,” he smiled warmly. “I’ve quite enjoyed your company, Liz. You’re attractive, but you can be business like at the same time and…”
Liz blushed all the way to her brain. “Thank you,” she told Derek. She hurried to the door and held it open for him.
He looked longingly at Liz. “I don’t want to go,” he said softly.
Liz was alarmed. “Excuse me?”
He straightened up. “Nothing. It was a joke. I’ve got to get going,” he said and shook her hand and smiled. He left.

The next time she spoke to Derek, she was in a horrible mood. They had found several possible culprits, thanks to Derek’s help, but none of them seemed to be the killer.
They had checked for finger-prints, but none of them matched the fingers of the maybe – culprits.
This particular day, she was wearing black sweats and a white-t shirt, sitting at home, calmly sipping coffee. She made her way to the phone to place a call, when it rang abruptly. Again, she spilled her coffee all over the floor.
She sighed in frustration, and answered the phone. “Hello, this is the house-hold of Elizabeth Roberts.” She cupped the phone to her ear and made her way into the kitchen and grabbed a rag, again.
She pressed on the stain, waiting for a response from the caller.
“Hello,” the voice rasped. Liz was silent for awhile.
“Who is this?” Liz demanded softly.
“Who is this?” the voice suddenly became smooth and angelic.
“I asked you first,” said Liz. For some reason, this call made her shiver, but not in delight. She gulped, and tried to keep her choked cry trapped behind her glossed lips.
“I just want to talk,” the angelic voice drawled. Liz swallowed. “You know, strike up a conversation. I want to be friends,” the voice continued.
Liz, relieved that the person wanted to date call, smiled. “Well, there’s 1800 numbers for that. Have a good one, bye.” She hung up and laughed. How could she be afraid of somebody looking for love over a telephone? She switched on the television with her clicker, when the phone rang once more.
She sighed in annoyance. “Hello?”
“Hello, me again.” The voice was suddenly raspy and dry again, which made Liz afraid.
“What do you want?” Liz croaked. She couldn’t help her fright. She simply could not control the overwhelming fright trickling over her like a broken faucet.
“Well, I want to know who I’m looking at.” Liz froze in fear. Looking at? What did this freak mean!?
“What did you say?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“I said, I want to know who I’m talking to,” the voice became smooth as butter again.
“That’s not what you said!” Liz screamed, her voice hoarse.
“Well, poor little Paul and Lars are as dead as pulled leaves, and darling, your next.”

Wow for 12 u sure can write. Keep up the good work!